


Do Not Swear By The Moon

by AllePuffle, GodIsGayQueenB



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Jurassic Park - All Media Types, Jurassic Park Original Trilogy (Movies), Night at the Museum (Movies), Queen (Band)
Genre: Ahk being the best bean(tm), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ancient Egypt, Angst, Crossover, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M for Abuse and Swearing, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sparks fly when you find your soulmate, Swearing, These Boys are ace so don’t expect anything beyond pure content, Tim might be a bit OOC at the start, Time Travel, also you can’t see color until you find them, fast burn, is that a thing?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24253141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllePuffle/pseuds/AllePuffle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodIsGayQueenB/pseuds/GodIsGayQueenB
Summary: In a world where you can only see color when you meet your soulmate, Tim Murphy has resigned himself to a colorless life. But when a surprising archeological find sends him hurtling back in time to a world he's only read about in history books, his life changes forever. Finally, he can see color.
Relationships: Ahkmenrah/Tim Murphy, Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	1. Excavation

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for checking this out. Admittedly this is my first fic. I find it funny that so many of us ship Joe and Rami characters even when they aren’t playing Snaf and Eugene or John and Freddie, so I thought I’d add my two cents. I thought that a mummy and an aspiring archeologist would be the perfect couple. 
> 
> My dear friend GodIsGayQueenB was willing to hear out my crack idea and even helped me write a large part. She’s literally the best.

The blinding desert heat bore down on Tim’s neck. His t-shirt and shorts stuck to his sweaty skin as he bent over a worktable, studying the old ring that had been found by Crowe the day prior.

He’d been working at this excavation site with his mentor and a few other excavation workers for almost a month now, and until today, they’d come up dry. But finally, after canvassing Egypt’s Western Desert day after day and getting a wicked sunburn, Tim finally felt as if his internship was worth it. He stared in awe as the ring caught the blazing sunlight.

His amazement was ruined, however, when the rough voice of his mentor, Jeremy Crowe, sliced through the air. His almost comical southern accent disturbed the quiet of the afternoon.

“Put that down, Murphy!” he barked, slapping the ring out of Tim’s hand sharply. “This artifact is priceless! It could well be the key to findin’ a tomb nearby, and that could get me some great archeological advancements.”

And it will make me filthy rich was left unsaid, thought Tim bitterly. But he quietly obeyed, masking his disappointment as he stepped back from the worktable and allowed Crowe to pour over the ring, a greedy glint in his eye. Crowe whistled.

“Look at this fine-ass hunk of metal,” he chuckled, grabbing a nearby magnifying glass to take a closer look. “Don’t you think so, boy?”

Crowe’s gray eyes slid to his. If Tim had to guess, he would assume that they were blue, as they looked about the right shade. But of course, this was how he’d learned everything to do with color: he guessed and checked.

People had been telling him all his life about colors, how it was possible to see things in shades other than dull gray. At first, the concept amazed him. A whole world of variety at his fingertips and all he needed was his soulmate by his side! When his grandpa had first told him about it, Tim had immediately rushed to the SAD to check his status. He all but kicked his sister Lex off of their home computer in his excitement. Entering his social security number, birth date, and a boatload of other information, he scrolled to the bottom of the page to find his soulmate’s name:

Unknown.

At first, he held onto the hope that his soulmate might not have been born yet. After all, he was only five at the time. However, as years passed, that hope died. Now, at eighteen years old, he had resigned himself to a colorless and, more importantly, loveless fate. He was about to enter his fourth and final year of high school. This dig, along with his numerous other extracurricular activities, would be more than enough to get him into a college of his choosing. He would get his degree and settle down alone in some old apartment far, far away from Chicago and live a peaceful life, but in the back of his mind, he would always know that he was unloveable.

Around the age of eleven, Tim went through a conspiracy phase, where he theorized that the SAD had messed up his results. Maybe they’d gotten his mixed up with another’s or possibly they lost his vial of blood altogether. But deep down, he knew the SAD never made mistakes. It was too well-organized.

The SAD, otherwise known as the Soul Attraction Database, was a collection of data that housed a sample of everyone’s blood. Governments all across the world had come together to test each carefully-labeled vial against all other blood samples. Then, qualified officials watched for sparks, signaling that the people were soulmates.

The process was heavily documented and more complex than many people realized. Tim only knew because his father worked at the Chicago base.

He winced. No, don’t think of him. Archeology, the ring, colors.

Tim snapped back to reality, fixing his eyes on the glinting ring. He had a game he liked to play where he’d try to guess the color of the object in front of him. He reckoned that the ring was golden. It wasn’t just the shade or his knowledge of ancient jewelry (colors have gone in and out of style over the century, but gold has always been the latest fashion). The metal had a certain look to it, and the mere sensation of holding made him feel regal, like an Egyptian Pharaoh.

As if reading his mind, Crowe peered up at him through the magnifying glass. “Yep, that’s 24-karat gold. Whatever we’re about to find is gonna be good!”

Tim smiled slightly, the first expression he had made all day besides general indifference. He swayed back-and-forth on the balls of his feet–a trait he retained from childhood–as he leaned over Crowe’s shoulder. 

“Stop breathin’ down my neck!” he hissed irritably, swatting at Tim and hitting him squarely in his nose. In the process, his elbow collided with a metal canteen, and it fell to the ground with a clang.

Tim scrunched his face and moved away from Crowe, retrieving the canteen. Sand ran off it as he picked it up, examining it quizzically. It was only half full and would barely be enough to last them through the rest of the day.

“Mr. Crowe, we’re running low on resources. Maybe we should head back to base–” Tim began.

“Boy, how many times do I need to tell ya? You don’t know nothin’ about how to survive out here.” He snatched the canteen from Tim’s hands and shook it so hard that Tim was sure the water might burst out the top. “This is plenty to last the day. Now get your ass back to work.”

There was no work to be done, so Tim wandered about the site. Once he was a good distance away from Crowe, he sat down. Occasionally, he picked up a handful of sand and let the hot grains run through the cracks between his fingers. But the heat of the desert made the sand scorching-hot, and soon his bare legs seared in pain. More sand seeped into the holes of his Crocs and lit fire to his toes. He cursed.

Coming to the conclusion that it was decidedly not a good idea to let himself roast on the ground like a pork chop, Tim heaved himself up. His fingers sunk into the sand as he did, burning his skin.

Just then, the tip of his right index finger hit something solid and cracked. He let out a squeak of shock and pain as he quickly drew his injured finger to his chest. One look at it, and he could tell it was sprained. 

With a hiss, Tim place his throbbing finger into his mouth in an attempt to ease the pain. Evening his ragged breathing, he called out, “Crowe? Crowe! Come over here!”

“Murphy, lord almighty!” he heard his mentor shout from the other end of the excavation site.

“Crowe! Please! I found something!” Tim hollered back.  
Crowe appeared around a white tent, grumbling as he made his way over to the boy who was still crouched on the ground, his finger cradled protectively in his palm.

“What is it?” he snapped, crossing his arms and leering at Tim.

“There’s something beneath the sand. Something hard.”

Crowe laughed. “That’s called a rock, you dumb kid.”

“No, it was sharp!” he insisted. “It sprained my finger, look!”

Tentatively, he uncurled his hand to show him. Crowe eyed it, unconvinced.

“Look, kid, we already found one thing–”

“But what if we could find more?” Tim argued. “Think about it! What if it’s a whole box of treasures? Or maybe it’s a tomb.”

The look on Crowe’s face told Tim he had him convinced. At the slightest mention of a tomb, Crowe’s eyes glittered, imagining the prospect of fame, fortune, money. But a shadow of doubt crossed his expression.

“But kid,” he said, “there’s no way–”

“Land shifts all the time,” Tim maintained. “It could be possible.”

Crowe thought about it hard. Tim could almost see the gears turning in his tiny brain. “Alright, kid,” he decided. “We’ll take a look.”

He shouted for his workers and they began to dig as the sun fell. But dinnertime, a corner of a stone structure was revealed. By sunset, they had excavated a portion large enough to be sure of what it was: a tomb.

The men celebrated that night with drinks. As Tim had predicted, they ran out of water that same night, forcing a few men to travel back to the base to collect more, missing the festivities. Those who remained stayed up late drinking beer and bursting into random bouts of cheering and applause. Crowe stood among them. 

Tim, however, turned in early. He tossed and turned in his bed, attempting to drown out the racket outside. Eventually, he drifted into a fitful sleep.

When morning came, the workers began digging again, many through massive hangovers. By midday, they’d found the entrance.

A dry wind blew past Tim and Crowe as they stepped inside, Crowe first. Turning on their flashlights, they looked around in wonder.

The tomb was small and dusty. Tim’s eyes watered, and he suppressed a cough. But this was quickly forgotten as he took in the incredible paintings and sculptures decorating the walls: hieroglyphs.

On the walls, ancient Egyptian people were sculpted wearing assorted togas and loincloths. Some stood straight and still as if they were standing guard, while two were prominently displayed to be shaking hands. Tim admired how the paint was still miraculously intact. Even though he couldn’t see color, it was clear to him that they shone as bright as they ever had before.

But the impressive decorations paled in comparison to the spectacular sight of the sarcophagus in the middle of the room.

“Woah,” he breathed, staring.

Moving as if he were in a dream, Tim approached it slowly. It was beautiful, decorated with striking designs in what he guessed was gold and blue, the colors of wealth and royalty. A figure of a man was carved on it, his hands crossed. Beneath them, written in hieroglyphs, was a name: Ahkmenrah.

As if in a trance, Tim reached out to touch it. It was so beautiful, so breathtaking–if he couldn’t see its colors, he should at least be allowed to feel its texture.

“Don’t touch that, boy, or you might break something!” 

Crowe’s sharp, angry outburst caused Tim to whip his hand back in fright. “Sorry,” he mumbled, ducking his head.

He looked up in time to see Crowe running a reverent hand over the sarcophagus’s smooth stone, absolute glee etched on his face. Anger pooled in Tim’s gut. Why could he touch it, but not Tim?

At last, Crowe withdrew his hand. “I’m gonna get some equipment,” he murmured, grinning. “Don’t move.”

With that, he left, leaving Tim alone.

He gazed at the sarcophagus for a second longer. The name Ahkmenrah gazed back at him. An Egyptian Pharaoh.

Awe and utter disbelief overcame him. He was in a tomb. A real, undocmented tomb he had discovered. Granted, he’d had help . . . but if he hadn’t sprained his finger on the tomb’s stone, who knows what would’ve happened.

Blinking himself back to the present, he turned to the walls, pointing his flashlight at the Egyptian people decorated there. It was amazing to think that each one of them meant something special, something important. He wondered what that could be. Who was Ahkmenrah? What was his story?

Suddenly, one, distinct figure caught his eye: a light-haired, light skinned man with a black snake draped over his shoulders. Compared to the rest of the people, his skin was painted several shades lighter. Tim’s brows crept up his forehead. Who was he? What had made a white person so special that he’d been included in a Pharaoh's tomb? 

Whoever he was, he seemed important. He was two sizes larger than the others and surrounded by hieroglyphs. The snake on his shoulders, too, had been given distinction, with one glowing eye that seemed to stare right at him. 

Tim suddenly became aware that he was alone in a dark tomb, accompanied by a creepy snake and a dead body. Slightly wigged out, he glanced toward the doorway and the daylight beyond, debating leaving. But something nagged on him, like he was missing something.

Turning away from the door, he examined the sarcophagus once more. It was still as beautiful as it had been the first time he’d seen it. As he looked, something tugged in his gut, urging him toward it.

He obeyed until he stood directly beside it. He stared down at the name on the sarcophagus: Ahkmenrah.

For some inexplicable reason, he longed to touch it, just once. It couldn’t hurt if he touched it just once, could it? Slowly, he reached out with a trembling hand.

Crowe would kill him if he found out, but Tim didn’t care. Sound drowned out around him, and his vision narrowed until all he could see was that name: Ahkmenrah.

A strange roaring filled his ears. His mouth had gone dry, and he felt suddenly cold and clammy, as if he had reason to be afraid. Still, he reached out further until his fingers hovered a mere inch above the name.

A cool breeze swept by him. In the back of his mind, Tim wondered where it could have come from, but he pushed that thought aside, concentrating on the name. Ahkmenrah.

Next, the pungent odor of flowers overwhelmed his senses. He breathed it in. The roaring in his ears grew louder.

Ahkmenrah.

He touched the sarcophagus. It burst open. Inside a mummy in a state of decay held a shiny slab of metal in his arms. Tim felt like he was being pushed forward by an unseen force. The only thoughts that overcame him was the yearning to touch the slab. It had serval squares that contained hieroglyphics.

Voices whispered around him. Urging him closer and closer to the tablet. His arm trembled as he stretched it out.

The second Tim touched the metal he was jerked forward. The ground beneath his feet vanished, and the tomb around him disappeared. Spinning through the air in an uncontrollable free-fall, he felt as though he were being sucked into a whirlwind. The breath was ripped from his lungs as he tumbled and flipped, fighting to righten himself. A cool wind whipped past his face, and a rush of sound overcame him. Distantly, he heard himself scream. 

Then he smashed into something solid and hard and everything went black.


	2. The Strange Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim wakes up in the house of a crazy old lady, but something seems different...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so uh wow. The reception for the last chapter blew me and my co writer away. Honestly I was expecting maybe one or two hits! We normally won’t update this fast but I couldn’t wait to post again. 
> 
> Once more I’d like to give the biggest thanks to my co writer Godisgayqueenb, she’s been spoiling me, I’ve been getting lazy writing the past four chapters because I know she’ll fix all my mistakes.
> 
> SMALL TRIGGER WARNING: Tim’s PTSD about his childhood abuse and about his time at Jurassic Park will be evident in the latter half of this chapter. Please proceed with caution!

When Tim came to, he was lying on a soft, plush surface. Something thin and warm covered him. Its scratchy material was rough against his skin, and a few loose, feather-like strands tickled his nose. The air was cool and dusty, yet rather unlike the musty atmosphere of the old pharaoh’s tomb. It seemed more . . . free, as if he were lying in the open air.

He kept his eyes screwed tightly shut. A migraine pounded in his skull. He was about seventy-five percent sure that he was dead, yet also . . . did dead people need to sneeze?

At last, the strands tickling his nose and the dusty air got the better of him. He let out an ungodly, “Achoo!” that his grandpa would be proud of.

“Careful, son, or you’ll dirty my pots!” cried a loud voice nearby.

Tim’s eyes flew open.

He was lying on a rickety cot. A thin, wool sheet blanketed him. Hovering above him, glaring with intense, beetle-black eyes, stood a dark-skinned, stern-looking woman. 

The woman smiled crookedly at him.

He yelped and scrambled back against a nearby wall, tripping as his feet tangled in the sheets. As he extricated himself, his heart beating in his throat, his eyes darted around the room wildly, taking in his surroundings.

Apart from the woman, he seemed to be alone in a small, dim, very cluttered room. Curtains covered the windows, blocking the sunlight outside. Shelves lined almost every inch of wall, carrying books, candles, buckets of tools, and ceramic statues. A rug blanketed the ground, covered in such a thick layer of dust and grime that Tim couldn’t see the pattern beneath. Plants of all varieties flourished around the room, half-concealing an old, rickety door leading presumably to another room. In one, cramped corner of space that was clear, a stone table with dark wooden chairs was pressed tightly against the wall. Clay pots, plates, and bowls of all sizes were stacked on a shelf nearby, and above them, a Christian cross with a loop on top instead of just a straight line hung: An Ankh, the Egyptian symbol for life.

He shifted his eyes back to the woman. She was old and whizend, with heavy wrinkles around her mouth and large bags under her dark eyes. This, coupled with her evident crows feet, told Tim that she might’ve been somewhere in her fifties. She wore a light-colored, linen robe tied around her waist with a rope that had frayed at the ends. Her hair was black and had been woven into thick dreadlocks that curtained her strong jaw. A beaded band wrapped around her head, seeming to hold her hair in place. Perhaps she was wearing a wig.

Mouth dry, Tim reached into his right pocket where he kept the switchblade his grandpa had given him. With a trembling hand, he flipped it open and pointed it at the woman. “Who the hell are you?”

Despite being threatened with a knife, the woman didn’t react. She simply stared at him with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

“Who–are–you?” he snarled, placing a harsh enunciation on each word.

At last, the woman spoke.

“Calm yourself, child,” she clipped. “So long as you do not touch my pots, I mean you no harm.” 

With a great deal of hesitation, Tim lowered his weapon, placing it by his side in case he needed it again. After he made it clear that he had no intent on moving away from the wall, she spoke again.

“They call me Ahura. What do they call you?” Her voice was now laced with a sweet and genuine tone. Tim noticed she had an accent. It was peculiar. He’d never heard anything like it. If he had to liken it to a region, it would be British.

“Tim.” He drawed out his answer like he was still unsure if this was smart. 

She furrowed her brow. “Tim? Just Tim?”

“Yes . . .”

“Hm.”

She stared at him with unbridled curiosity, like he was a rat in a science lab. Feeling uncomfortable, he averted his eyes, focusing instead on the Egyptian Ankh on her wall.

“Where am I?”

The woman–Ahura–clicked her tongue. “Tsk, tsk. So many questions. You’re in my hut, honey. I found you hurt and unconscious in my garden this afternoon. Water?”

Without waiting for his answer, Ahura strode across the untidy room to the stone table, on which was a cup of water. Picking it up, she walked back and passed it to him. Only now suddenly realizing how thirsty he was, Tim downed the contents in one swig. It tasted absolutely abhorrent, like a mixture of mucus and iron rust. He gagged but somehow managed to keep the liquid down.

“What in god’s name was that?!” he complained.

He looked up to find Ahura staring at him with bated breath, eying him with trepidation. He froze, a cold feeling pooling in his gut. Had the drink been poisoned?

Ahura abruptly sighed in relief, her shoulders slumping. “Not a demon, then . . . good . . . then what?”

Tim blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“That water came straight from the Nile, blessed by the gods,” she explained. “Demons cannot consume it without being destroyed. So, if not a demon, who are you really?”

Gods? Demons? What was this lady talking about?

“Uh . . . I’m not sure . . .”

“You’re pale, you have such a strange name, and your garments–” Her eyes flickered over his shorts and t-shirt. “I’ve never seen anything like them.” Suddenly, she gasped. “Are you a god?”

“Huh?”

“A god! A supreme deity of this land! Ha ha! You’re a god!”

She grinned ear-to-ear and let out a high-pitched cry of joy. “A god! In my home! I have been blessed with a god!”

Tim gaped. “What? No! Why on Earth would you think–”

Like a bolt of lighting, it hit him. He remembered the tomb, the strange wind, the tablet, Ahkmenrah. His migraine began to dull, and he felt as if a fog had lifted, replaced with cold dread. What had happened to him? How long had he been out? Where was Crowe and the others?

Anxiously, he patted his pockets for his phone before remembering that it had broken the second week into their dig. The middle of the desert wasn’t an ideal place to find a replacement Blackberry, and he’d decided not to waste a good week’s time traveling to the nearest town to buy a new one. But now he profoundly regretted it.

“Listen, Ms. Ahura,” he began, “I appreciate the help, I really do, but do you have a phone I could use? I need to call my boss.”

“A phone.” She pronounced the word like it was the first time her lips had formed it. “I am afraid I haven’t a clue what you are talking about. Do you want me to send a letter to someone?”

“No, no, Ma’am,” he said quickly. “I really just need a telephone so I can tell my superior that I’m okay.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, child.” Her face showed clear concern. “Are you feeling alright? How about you come and have something to eat. You look as pale as a stone. I made stew.”

After the water debacle, he was a little wary, but as she had not tried to poison him then and seemed nice enough not to feed him poison now, he accepted. At last, he pushed himself away from the wall and stood.

“Come, come . . .” Ahura beckoned him to the stone table in the corner.

Remembering her threat from before, he grabbed his switchblade and cautiously navigated himself around the many shelves, careful not to touch her precious pots. Ahura pulled out a chair and ushered for him to sit.

The stew smelled absolutely delectable and his stomach let out a hungry growl, but his manners didn’t allow him to start eating until Ahura, who was seated directly across from him, had taken the first bite. She raised the bowl up to her mouth and began to drink. 

No spoons? he wondered. Not wanting to appear rude, he didn’t ask, and besides he was too hungry to care. The hot broth was nowhere near as disgusting as the water had been. It warmed him and relaxed his muscles, which had been taut with stress and worry. After finishing her broth, Ahura picked up a strange-looking fork with only two tongs and began to stab at the meat and vegetables inside the bowl. 

“Now, tell me how you got to be in my garden,” Ahura declared as she picked at her food.

“Uh . . . garden?”

“I turned away for two seconds, and bam! You were lying there, wearing whatever it is that you're wearing and out cold.” She frowned, adding with a grumble, “Squashed my poppies to bits, too.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know how,” he replied.

“No? How could you not? Are you a drunkard?”

He shook his head. “I’m not old enough to drink.”

She stared at him like he was insane. Ironic, considering the state of her home. And Demons? Gods, plural? No one believed in those except Percy Jackson freaks.

“You confuse me, Tim,” she said slowly, setting down her fork. “You have such a strange name, and I’ve never seen someone so pale. Almost as if . . . as if . . .” She gasped. Eyes wide with fear, she stumbled back, pointing an accusing finger at him. “A ghost!”

“I–what? No! Wait . . .” He thought about it for a second. “Yeah, no! Ma’am, I need your help.”

But Ahura had grabbed the Ankh from the wall behind her and started shaking it in his direction. “Begone, foul creature!” she shrieked. “Begone!”

“Ma’am, I’m not a ghost!”

Ahura twisted her mouth in a frown, lowering her Ankh slowly. She still observed him with narrowed eyes, as if she thought he was suddenly going to sprout fangs and run, howling at the full moon. 

“Alright,” she said at last. “I will hear you out. But you’d better be quick! The wrestling match is starting soon and I cannot have a ghost ruining the match.”

“Wrestling?”

“Oh, yes.” Ahura got up from the table and moved the curtains of her front window out of the way. Bright, blinding sunlight spilled into the room. Tim, squinting and shielding his eyes from the glaring light, only just barely caught her point to a spot outside. “My nephew is going to have his first wrestling match today, right there.”

She smiled proudly, still pointing. Slowly, Tim’s eyes adjusted, and he joined her at the window, peering outside.

He was looking out onto a busy, sandy street, lit by the setting sun. Bustling people went about their evenings. Vendors selling their products in makeshift tents called at the passerby, who were dressed almost exactly like Ahura in loose robes and togas. Women wore their hair in different styles, most around shoulder length. Young boys had their heads shaved, and men’s hair was only slightly longer. But what stood out to Tim was that several people seemed to be wearing poorly-fastend wigs. In fact, now that he watched, it seemed as if almost everyone was wearing a wig, besides the bald younger boys.

Wigs are a fashion, then, he supposed.

Weren’t wigs popular in ancient Egypt?

He shook his head, dispelling his thoughts. But as he looked closer, he saw that nothing seemed like it was made past the tenth century.

Maybe it’s a renaissance? he thought meekly.

But Tim had studied archeology and ancient history almost all of his life. He knew what this appeared to be.

His heartbeat sped up, and his breaths came out in short, sharp gasps. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. But then again, he hadn’t thought it was possible to bring dinosaurs back to life.

His mind raced. Suddenly, so many things made sense. The Ankh, demons and gods, strange clothes . . . He was burning with questions, and he opened his mouth to ask Ahura–but something told him not to. He didn’t think she would take him asking for the date well, if her reaction to demons was anything to go by.

Asking for the date. It was surreal. And impossible. And petrifying. If he was right . . .

He swallowed, his mouth bone dry, and attempted to slow his ragged breathing. He needed to ask. Maybe if he was subtle . . .

“Ahura, how old is our pharaoh again?” As soon as he said it, he blanched. That wasn’t the right way to go. Now he seemed like an amnesiac. 

She furrowed her brow in confusion. “Pharaoh Ahkmenrah just turned eighteen. His birthday was only a few days ago. Do you not remember? Everyone was invited to the parade.”

While Tim couldn’t really say he wasn’t expecting the answer, it didn’t terrify him any less. Chills ran down his spine and he began to shake. “Oh god.”

He took a few staggered steps away from the window as nausea overcame him. “Oh god. This can’t be happening to me.”

But he knew it was. Once, a lifetime ago, he would have been thrilled. He would have bounced up-and-down, screaming in excitement and joy. But that was before he found out he was soulmate-less, before his parents got back together, and before Jurassic Park. Now, the thought of being stolen from his own time scared him senseless. He wanted to go home, back to the excavation site, back to Chicago, back to his sister. He would even welcome the steely gaze of Crowe if he could just go back.

“I have to go,” he moaned, wrapping his arms around himself in a hug and stumbling back. “Ahura I need to go back home, please!” 

Ahura took a worried step closer, her eyes fixed on something behind him. “Boy, watch out–”

But it was too late. Tim took a final pace back and his shoulder hit something hard. With a gasp, he whirled around just in time to see a stack of Ahura’s precious bowls crash to the ground and shatter.

“Boy!”

She rushed toward the remains and crouched beside them, picking up one piece of clay and cradling it gently to her chest. “Oh, no. No, no, no. My darlings . . .”

His panic shrank as horrible remorse flooded him. “I’m sorry. I–I didn’t mean–I’m sorry.”

At the sound of his voice, she visibly stiffened. Tim gulped.

She stood, rounding on him. “You careless imbecile!”

She stalked toward him menacingly. Cold terror gripped him, and on reflex, he threw his hands above his head to shield his face, thinking of bruises and bloody knuckles and black eyes– “No, please!”

But no blows came. Instead, Ahura paused before him, biting her lip. 

“Sugar, you are clearly sick,” she said. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, Ra! Boy, you are possessed!”

That was the last thing Tim was expecting to hear.

“Apep has taken your mind, sonny! You poor child.” Her anger had vanished, replaced only by tender sympathy, yet she swiftly moved away from him, as if she was afraid he might bite her. “Oh, son . . .” she murmured softly. 

Ahura paused a moment to think, staring at him. Then her expression cleared. “The temple,” she muttered, maily to herself.

She approached Tim once more. Placing her hands on his cheeks, she peered deeply into his eyes. Something about her gaze set him on edge.

“I’m sorry, darling,” was all she said.

Ahura captured his hand in a death grip. With a startled cry, Tim attempted to free himself from her but to no avail. Pure panic rose in him as something in his chest tightened, like a large weight was pressing down on him. He was trapped.

His movements became erratic and jerky. He felt detached, as if he were floating above himself as he struggled. Ahura still refused to let go. Except, she was no longer Ahura . . .

“Let go of me!” he cried. His wrists were going to bruise, and he dug his nails into Ahura’s calloused arm. “Let go!”

But she ignored him and began to drag him to the door. “That’s Apep talking. You mustn’t listen to him.”

Tim finally broke her skin. Blood flowed down her forearm, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She simply tightened her grip and pulled him closer.

The weight on Tim’s chest increased. Suddenly, he was reminded of being stuck beneath a car door, trapped as a dinosaur slowly crushed him into the muddy ground. He screamed.

“You are in more need of help than I thought!” Ahura cried dramatically.

She pushed him through a door and out into another room. It was just as small and cluttered as the other one, only it had a few more chairs and a fireplace where a great, black cauldron rested, steaming. The delectable smell of stew wafted toward them, but Tim was too terrified to enjoy it.

Through another door, and then they were outside. The burning air hit Tim’s face. His father stared at him. You were never loved.

He went slack. Ahura pulled him through the market square with ease, never letting his wrist out of her grasp. The people in the square stared at them as they passed, shaking their heads.

“She found another one,” Tim thought he heard one woman say. “Poor kid.”

“Maybe one day it’ll be an actual demon,” said another.

Ahura either didn’t hear or didn’t care. She marched down the street, taking long, purposeful strides, Tim stumbling along after her.

They walked for a few minutes to judgemental glances and exasperated looks. Finally, they arrived at what must have been the temple Ahura had mentioned. Two large, narrow, trapezoidal prisms made of stone stood proudly in the sunlight, connected together by a hallway made of the same materials. Pillars made of sandstone created a courtyard that encompassed several statues of gods. In the back of his mind, Tim recognized it as the Luxor Temple in what had been the ancient city of Thebes.

At the sight of it, Tim snapped back to reality. He tried to tug his writs out of her grasp, but she held firm. 

“Ahura, I’m not possessed! Please stop!” he begged.

Ahura looked almost sad. “It will be alright, hon. Come on, I know someone who will make you all better.”

And she dragged him into the temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like Ahura, my co writer found her an absolute delight to write about. Also don’t you worry Ahkmenrah will show up next chapter.
> 
> As always feel free to point out any typos!


	3. A Priest, a Pharaoh, and an Archaeologist Walk into a Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahura is certain that Tim is possessed, so she takes him to an old friend for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's the co-writer here lol
> 
> I keep getting notifications of such great reviews, and it honestly makes me super happy! Thanks to AllePuffle for all their help, and of course for being just downright awesome.
> 
> There's a little bit of language in here, but besides that, no trigger warnings. We meet a new character too, but I won't say who hehe. You can probably guess anyway. 
> 
> I apologize for any typos. Enjoy!

A man greeted Tim and Ahura in the courtyard. His head was adorned with a short, black wig, and he was strongly built. His skin tone was also considerably lighter than the others Tim had seen around the square, however nowhere near as light as his own. Yet while he could be wrong about the color of Ahura’s clothes, there was no mistaking the pure, brilliant white of a priest’s garments. Because of his extensive knowledge of Egyptology, Tim could tell that the man was a high priest judging by the sash he wore, undoubtedly made from golden fabric.

When he saw them, he let out a low sigh. If Tim’s senses weren’t on hyper-alert, he would have missed the slight eye roll he gave the sky. Still, the man offered them both a friendly wave of greeting.

“Ahura, my dear, daughter of Ahmose and Henuttawy. How can I help you on this fine evening?” His voice was dull and toneless, as if he knew exactly what they were there for.

“Jim! Oh, Jim! I found another!” Ahura shoved him forward but didn’t let go of his wrist, making him trip and fall, only to be yanked back. His arm seared in pain and he barely managed to catch himself, straightening up only a few feet away from the burly man.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you now?” 

Ahura grimaced. “Yes, truly. I swear this time. His mind has been taken by Apep. He needs our help! Oh, the poor dear must be struggling to be free in there . . .”   
  
The man turned to Tim with a compassionate glance. “I am sorry about this. I wish I could say this was the first time.”

  
“I don’t care! Just make her get her fucking hands off of me!” 

He didn’t know where the sudden rush of anger came from. All he knew was that he had finally crumpled under the stress. He had been ripped from his own time, traveled back to Ancient Egypt, of all places, and now he was possibly about to be exorcised. He was shaky, panicking, and cold, and all he wanted was to go  _ home. _

Jim gave Ahura a stern look and crossed his arms. “Release him.”

She did no such thing. “Promise you will expel Apep from him. Promise!”

He regarded her with cool eyes. “I promise I will do everything in my power to help this boy.”

Ahura hesitated. Tim could almost see the gears whirring in her head. At last, she nodded. “All right.”

At last, she released him. The second his hand was free, he stepped away and rubbed his bruised wrist, scowling darkly. For a moment, he considered making a dash for it. But where would he go? He had traveled back in time. There was nowhere for him to run.

Perhaps if he went back to the future excavation site . . . but would there even be a tomb? Ahura had said that it had been the pharaoh’s eighteenth birthday.  _ Ahkmenrah’s _ eighteenth birthday. The same name that had been on the sarcophagus.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. There was no doubt: Ahkmenrah was still alive. And if he was alive, no tomb. And if there was no tomb . . . what then?

Dread pooled in Tim’s gut. What was he going to do? He didn’t know how he had traveled back in time, and he certainly didn’t know how to get back. His only connection to the future hadn’t even been built yet. How could he possibly hope to return home?

He was snapped from his reverie by the sound of Jim’s deep voice. 

“–apologize for Ahura’s behavior,” he was saying. Then, speaking only slightly above a whisper, he warned, “But please watch your tone and language. We are in the house of our gods.”   
  
“ _ Your  _ gods,” Tim corrected harshly without thinking. Mentally, he cursed himself. Ancient Egypt, or any of the ancient civilizations, for that matter, weren’t really well versed in religious diversity. Tim thought of himself as a steadfast atheist, but that definitely wouldn’t fly in this time, especially when he was talking to the high priest of one of the most famous Egyptian temples in the world.

Jim widened his eyes. “I beg your pardon, boy?”

Apparently, Ahura found all this very amusing, for she clapped her hands together and chuckled. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she pointed at Tim with an unfiltered glee. 

“You see what I mean, Jim?” she cried. “This child rejects our gods, wears strange garments, and talks of  _ getting back home  _ and something called a–a  _ phone _ . That must be a demonic tool of some sort!”

Tim winced. He hated being thought of as a child.

Jim pursed his lips, looking up and down at him with renewed curiosity. “Who are you?”   
  
“A minion of Apep! I told you!” Ahura answered before he could speak.

The priest glared at her. “Last I checked, this boy is not a mute and is quite capable of speaking for himself.”

As one, they both turned to Tim. He gulped.

“My name is Timothy,” he said, “but everyone calls me Tim.”

“Such a strange name,” interjected Ahura. “It could be a demon’s name.”

Jim hissed at her to be quiet. “Where are you from, Tim?”

_ America  _ was his immediate thought, but he swallowed his tongue. “Uh . . . up north?”

Jim raised his brows. “Up north . . . just up north.”

Ahura leaned in close to the priest and spoke in a low voice, yet Tim could hear every word: “He must be from the depths of Duat and simply unwilling to tell us.”

“Silence, woman!” Jim snapped. “Can you tell us from where up north?”

Tim wracked his mind. “Um . . .”

“Oh, stop being ridiculous, Jim,” Ahura interrupted. “He is not from anywhere up north because he is not from up north at all! Can’t you see it?”

“I’m being ridiculous?  _ I’m _ being ridiculous?!”

“Yes! If you would just listen to reason–”

“Woman, enough! I will hear this nonsense no longer! Either leave immediately or hold your tongue!”

Ahura fell silent, wringing her hands.

Jim turned backed to him. “Please tell us, where from up north are you from?”

Tim had an answer ready. “I am Greek.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Jim gave him a blank look.

_ Shit, _ Tim swore.  _ When was ancient Greece established? Uh . . . 1200 B.C. Then what year am I in? Evidently, before then. _

But it was too late now. Cold dread overcame him, seeping through his veins.

“Perhaps you are right, Ahura,” Jim pondered aloud. “He does seem to be behaving . . . oddly.”

“Thank Ra! Finally!” Ahura proclaimed. “Do you know how long I have been trying to tell you they live among us?”

“Steady your mind, Ahura. Just because this one might be a demon does not mean any of the others were. A few days ago you brought in the butcher from the market and claimed he was the human reincarnation of Ammit herself.”

“I saw him drawing unholy symbols!” 

“Those were stick figures in a note he was making for his daughter’s birthday.”

“I know what I witnessed!”

For the first time, Ahura sounded angry. Tim bit back a comment to warn her that yelling at the high priest of what may possibly be one of the most famous temples in history was a bad idea.

Luckily for her, Jim took a deep breath and collected himself. He directed his attention back on Tim, who gulped.

“How did you come to be in Thebes?”

So Tim had been right: This was Thebes and he was standing in Luxor Temple. At least if he didn’t know when he was, he knew exactly where.

“I . . . walked?” 

God, he was a terrible liar. But he didn’t think that informing the high priest of Luxor that he had broken into the tomb of his pharaoh and touched a metal plaque held by the decaying corpse of his pharaoh would earn him any brownie points.

Jim frowned. Glancing once at Ahura, he appeared to come to a conclusion. “Come in, boy.” 

Ahura let out a triumphant cry. “At last! I am belie–”

“I doubt you are possessed,” Jim barked, “but you are clearly under some . . . influence.”

Ahura’s smiled wavered. She sighed, resigned.

Meanwhile, Tim panicked. He knew enough about exorcism in the past to know it oftentimes wasn’t pretty. 

“No!” he cried, backing away. “For the last time, I’m not possessed!” His voice sounded like a broken record.

Jim’s expression of sympathy mirrored Ahura’s. He gently laid a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Come along, boy, and we will help you. But we must hurry; the pharaoh is coming to pay respects to Thoth today.”

Oh, great. If he hung around here much longer he’d be forced to interact with some stuck up, conceited, rich kid who probably killed babies for fun. Maybe that was a bit much, but could you blame Tim for assuming the worst? Nero had burned Rome to the ground, Henry the Sixth killed two of his wives, Vlad the Third impaled his citizens for the fun of it, and Ivan the Terrible had beaten his own son to death with a scepter. So excuse him for being skeptical of the pharaoh, even if he was only a year older than Tim himself.

Deciding that exorcism was preferable, he allowed Jim to lead him into the temple. Ahura apparently did not think her job was finished, for she tried to follow them, but Jim’s arm shot out to block her path. 

“Stop there, woman. You know that common folk are not permitted to enter the temple. The house of the gods is not your playground.”   
  
Ahura gave him a fierce look. He returned it with just as much fervor.

Their silent stand-off lasted a long while. Finally, Jim struck a deal. 

“Fine. Why don’t you come over to our place tomorrow instead? Freddie, you, and I can all have a sip of beer and discuss the outcome of today’s events.”

She grinned, satisfied. “Very well, but make sure Freddie does not burn the beer again.”

Jim nodded and waved her off before he pulled Tim into the temple. Maybe it was because of the mention of this “Freddie,” or maybe it was the relief of getting away from Ahura, but Tim thought that Jim gained an extra leap in his step.

The inside of the temple felt bigger than the outside. Pillars similar to the ones lining the courtyard held up the high ceiling. Hieroglyphs upon hieroglyphs decorated the walls, accompanied by drawings lit by torches. Some of the art was 3D and seemed to pop out of the wall at him, and statues were more abundant here than in the courtyard. Despite the enormity of the place, it was almost completely empty and silent. The sharp  _ clack-clack _ of Tim’s and Jim’s feet echoing around the room was the only sound.

Several different corridors led to chambers and altars. Jim led him through the twisting halls, turning so many times that he lost count, yet Jim’s steps never faltered. Finally, they arrived at a chamber.

A statue of Ra stood in proud display in the middle of the room. It had always slightly disturbed Tim that the Ancient Egyptians had worshipped creepy animal hybrids, and Ra, with his falcon head, was no exception. The sun god’s beady eyes bored into his. The sculpture depicted his arms crossed over his chest, holding his staff in one hand and an  _ Ankh  _ in the other. As he was normally rendered, he had a sun disc above his head, accented by the serpent Uraeus that hovered over his pointed beak, head reared back to strike.

Tim kicked a pebble near his feet absentmindedly. “So . . . what do we do now?”

Jim walked over to the altar in front of the statue and knelt down. He motioned for Tim to join him. “I highly doubt that you are truly possessed. I am under the impression, and I mean no offense, that you might not be in the right state of mind. Did you drink much today?”

Tim sighed irritably. “No. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol today, or yesterday, or ever.” Of course he hadn't, he wasn’t of age yet. Well, except for that one time his grandfather had passed him a beer thinking it was apple juice, but that hardly counted. Tim had spit it out immediately after taking the first sip.

“I do not feel like I should have to remind you, but it is unbecoming to lie in the house of the gods. Speak nothing but the truth, unless you want Ma’at to pass you ill judgment.” Jim didn’t seem upset, more exhausted, like he wanted nothing more than to go home.

It occurred to Tim that perhaps acting the part of a moronic drunkard might be the best way to get himself out of this situation. With this thought in mind, he let out a heavy sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I can’t recall how much I drank this morning, but I know I did.”

Jim nodded. “Thank you for your honesty. Now, all I ask is that you pray to the gods for their forgiveness.” 

He swallowed. “Of course.” How did the Egyptians pray again?

He didn’t have to wonder for long, though, for Jim folded his hands and closed his eyes, bowing his head. Tim quickly copied him, sliding his eyes closed but leaving one open just a crack.

Jim began to murmur under his breath, and Tim followed suit. Neither could hear the other, which was lucky, for while Tim was sure that the priest was actually praising and praying to his gods, Tim was muttering names of all fast food joints that he was currently craving: _ Taco Bell. KFC. McDonald’s Quarter Pounder with Cheese and Bacon.  _

He was eternally grateful Jim couldn’t hear him.

After a few minutes, he decided it was appropriate to stop. Jim was still muttering. When he had finally finished, he paused a few more seconds before he unfolded his hands and looked up.

“Have you repented?” he said quietly.

“Yes, I have. I feel much better now. Thank you,” Tim replied. Meanwhile, his stomach let out a low growl.

Jim smiled kindly at him. “In some way, I am glad Ahura found you. You were clearly in need of help.” He appeared deep in thought. “In fact, would you be opposed to joining my husband Freddie and me for a meal or a drink anytime soon?”

Tim swallowed nervously. “Um, I don’t–” 

He broke off, thinking hard. What if he could help him? He seemed nice enough.

“Actually, sure,” he decided. “I will.”

Jim smiled. “Wonderful! Now come. The pharaoh will be here any–”

At that moment, a voice in the hallway called, “Jim? Jim, are you there?”

“–moment,” Jim finished.

Tim’s heart pounded.  _ Uh oh. _

“I’m in Ra’s temple, Your Majesty!” Jim called.

For the most powerful man in Egypt, the pharaoh voice was surprisingly high, young, and innocent.

“Ah! There you . . . are . . .”

The man who had walked around the corner was dressed in fine clothes. A bejeweled and evidently expensive pectoral necklace hung from his neck. He wore a metal chest plate and what would be considered in modern times a skirt, but Tim recognized it as a _ shendyt _ . Something that resembled a cape hung off his shoulders and trailed on the floor behind him. None of this covered him fully, however, as his midriff was exposed.

When he came to a halt before them, he held himself with regal grace. From what Tim could see, he wore no wig; his black hair was short and toed the line between curly and a styled afro. His skin was the tone that you would expect it to be: dark olive. His features were soft and boyish, and he had a strong, pointed chin, thick eyebrows, and small, thin lips. He wore black eye makeup that resembled the eye of Horus.

As Tim observed it, he shifted his gaze ever so slightly. He met the man’s eyes.

_ Blue _ eyes.

Like a shockwave had hit, the world flooded with color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alle here again! Just a bit of a disclaimer. I based the characters of Freddie and Jim on the portrayals of Rami Malek and Aaron McCusker, not the real people. Although serval events that did not happen in the movie will be mentioned.


	4. Well, Wasn't Expecting That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the incredible feedback, you guys! This one's a bit shorter of a chapter, unfortunately. If you find anything you think we need to improve on, don't be shy to leave a suggestion in the comments. And as always, I hope you enjoy!

The man’s only reaction was that his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Tim, on the other hand, almost choked on his own spit. Holy sh–

Was this what color looked like? It was like nothing Tim had ever imagined. Everything was suddenly so . . . vibrant. 

While he knew enough about sandstone to know that it was beige, to see it on the walls and floor and ceiling was another thing entirely. But what really caught Tim’s eye was the stunning blue and gold the man wore. His breath hitched. The colors of royalty.

The man regarded him with an even expression, as if he hadn’t just experienced the single most shocking event in a person’s life. “Who is this?”

Jim blushed. “I apologize that I did not greet you at the entrance, Your Majesty.”

Your Majesty. Oh, hell no. That didn’t mean–

“He is a man in need of repenting, but he has since confessed his wrongs and has, I believe, been forgiven by the gods.”

“What wrongs?”

“Indulging himself, My Pharaoh, and swearing in the house of the gods.”

After those words, there was no doubt above it. His soulmate was the most powerful man in Egypt, Pharaoh Ahkmenrah.

Well, he wasn’t expecting that. 

No wonder the SAD hadn’t been able to find his soulmate–they’d been searching in the wrong time. How many others without soulmates were the same?

There was a pause as Tim and Ahkmenrah stared at each other, hardly blinking. Jim looked back and forth between the two of them, frowning in confusion.

At last, Ahkmenrah spoke: “Thank you for your service to the gods today, Jim. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like you outside. Janus and Semo will be waiting to escort you home.”

“Your Majesty, are you certain–”

“I will finish here.” He dismissed him with a vague motion with his hand.

Jim stood. “Very well . . . come along, Timothy.”

“No,” Ahkmenrah said quickly. “He–he will stay for now.”

Tim gulped.

Jim gave them both a peculiar look. “Of course . . . I suppose you’ll join us for a drink later, then?”

It took Tim a while to realize he was addressing him. “Oh, uh . . . yeah. Sure.”

“Tomorrow I have a meeting . . . does the next day work for you?”

“Yeah.” He made a mental note.

“Wonderful. I’ll see you then.” 

He left the temple without another word.

An awkward silence followed. It could have lasted a lifetime or maybe only a few seconds. Time was now irrelevant. Tim’s heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he swallowed thickly. All he could focus on was the blue of Ahkmenrah’s eyes. Nothing in this room, not a single color, could ever compare.

On his second birthday, Tim had received a book describing all the colors; how red made you feel warm, blue made you feel cool, green made you feel fresh, etcetera. Those descriptions, along with photos of the colors, helped Tim identify them in his black-and-white life. Now, he was able to name them all. But Ahkmenrah’s eyes were indescribable. Blue, yes, but with a tad of green. He just couldn’t quite place it.

But as Tim looked into them, albeit buggy and little too large, he saw a clear emotion displayed there: Ahkmenrah was just as nervous as he was.

He seemed also slightly . . . babyish, now that Tim had gotten over his initial alarm. The Pharaoh of Egypt, and he hardly looked only a day over sixteen. How could he have thought he was a baby murderer if he was practically a baby himself?

He slowly stood up from the altar, legs shaking with nerves. As he crossed the room, part of him thought this must be a dream. Time travel? Ancient Egypt? A pharaoh soulmate? Things like that only happened in fantasy novels. He was Tim Murphy, unloveable, alone, and yet . . . this was real.

It was absurd. Fate must be playing some cruel trick on him. Back when Tim still had hope of finding his soulmate, he would imagine them to be painfully average like himself. He had never theorized much about who it could be, exactly, but it was safe to say that if he had, a dead pharaoh wouldn’t have made the top several hundred.

He came to a halt only a few feet from Ahkmenrah, staring. He had to make sure that he was really, truly his soulmate, but Tim didn’t know how to go about it without seeming rude or out of order. Thankfully, Ahkmenrah had the same idea. He extended his right arm, red nail polish on his fingernails glinting. Another sign of high class.

Hesitantly, Tim reached out as well. His arm trembled, and his muscles were tense and ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. What kind of trouble, he wasn’t sure.

This is stupid, a snide voice in the back of his head said. He’s probably not even your soulmate. Maybe he’s just playing a prank on you. 

How? Soulmates were called soulmates for a reason–they were meant for each other. If Tim could now see color, so would Ahkmenrah. But he was anxious and panicking, and panicking Tim didn’t think logically.

But he had to be sure. He rocked back and forth on his heels nervously. The tips of his fingers were only an inch away from Ahkmenrah’s. They just had to touch, that was all. If sparks flew, then it would be confirmed. If they didn’t . . . well, Tim would be on his way. 

He had seen a few sparks in his time. Once, when his friend Paulie had met her soulmate, he’d seen the largest, brightest spectacle of lights one could ever dream of. Another time, his cousin Dave had met his soulmate and only two or three sparks had sizzled and died. Paulie had happily married and started a wonderful family. Dave and his soulmate parted ways after a year. They never spoke to each other again. Sometimes, even soulmates can have unhappy endings. Tim hoped that wouldn’t be his fate.

Only one way to find out. With a gulp, he stretched his fingers out the final inch.

The touch was soft, a feather-light brush of the pads of their fingertips. But it didn’t matter. The reaction was instantaneous.

The air sizzled, and hundreds of deep, crimson-red sparks flooded the room. The force of it knocked him off his feet, and he landed on his back, gaping. 

The spectacle rivaled the fireworks in Hong Kong to celebrate Chinese New Year. When the last firework had died, and the dust had settled, Tim looked up to find that Ahkmenrah had been thrown against the opposite wall, coughing.

He raised his head. In a second, they locked eyes. Then Ahkmenrah burst out laughing in utter glee.

For a moment, Tim only stared. Then he felt a slow grin spread across his face. Ancient Egyptian Pharaoh or not, he had a soulmate. He wasn’t unlovable.

While Ahkmenrah laughed in amusement and joy, Tim laughed in relief. A mix of several powerful emotions buffeted him: bliss, ecstasy, disbelief. He could be loved.

Ahkmenrah got to his feet and sauntered across the chamber. His movements were precise and smooth, like the Nile coursed through him. Unlike most people, this swagger did not make him look stuck up; it only made him more regal.

He offered Tim a delicate hand. He blushed and took it. With a surprising amount of strength, Ahkmenrah pulled him to his feet.

Brushing off his clothes, Tim twisted his fingers awkwardly, avoiding Ahkmenrah’s eyes. “So, um . . . hi?”

He looked up to find Ahkmenrah gawking at him.

“You’re staring,” Tim informed him.

“Right. Err . . . sorry about that.” He flushed. 

Tim felt like he was soaring. He had just made a pharaoh, arguably the most powerful man in all of Egypt, turn red and flustered. A burst of confidence shot through him at the thought, but his gut told him that his soulmate was upset by his embarrassment, so he laid a gentle hand on Ahkmenrah’s shoulder.

“It’s fine,” he assured him. “I’m not upset.”

Ahkmenrah, seeming to siphon off of Tim’s new conviction, gave him a tentative smile. Tim beamed.

With his newfound nerve, he reached out and grazed his hand against Ahkmenrah’s. His soulmate grabbed it, threading his fingers through his with a glance that clearly said, Fucking commit to it!

Suddenly, everything became real. Tim’s confidence wavered. Meanwhile, Ahkmenrah stood taller, and his grin became more self-assured. It took Tim a moment to realize what was happening. Oh. This is how Ahkmenrah feels.

When a soulmate is found, occasionally, an emotional bond would form too. These bonds connected people with their emotions, allowing each to feel what the other felt. Strangely, new bonds were considerably more sensitive, allowing even the smallest difference in emotions to be transferred. But as time moved on, only strong emotions were able to seep through. For some, these feelings could be transmitted through great distances without physical touch.

For a while, neither of them moved. They held hands awkwardly for a good three minutes, perhaps longer. Ahkmenrah’s hand was smooth and soft, causing Tim to become acutely aware of how sweaty his palm was, and of his rough, calloused skin from his fieldwork in archeology. At last, Ahkmenrah gently released him, adjusting his shendyt and running a hand through his messy hair, making it even more disheveled.

“Your hands are soft,” Tim blurted out loud. Oh god, why did I say that? He felt like tearing his hair out.

But Ahkmenrah just smiled. His eyes flickered around the room. “Well, this situation is particularly odd, yes?”

“Yeah,” Tim mumbled. It hit him that Ahkmenrah probably didn’t even know his name. “Oh, um, I’m… I’m Ti-”

“Timothy, I heard Jim say,” Ahkmenrah finished for him.

“You can call me Tim,” he said, quickly adding, “Everyone does,” as to not seem too forward.

Ahkmenrah nodded, then gestured to himself. “Ahkmenrah.”

“I know.”

Silence encompassed them for a few painstaking seconds. 

Tim broke the quiet. “Well, this is weird,” he murmured.

Ahkmenrah nodded inattentively, seeming absorbed in thought. At last, he lit up with an idea. “Err . . . would you care to join me on a walk through the Old Market? Perhaps talk this over?”

Tim smiled. “I would love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if you got the meme reference there, but I really hope you did 😂Next chapter will come soon!


	5. The Old Market

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy friends! A general trigger warning for allusions to physical abuse will be instated from here on out.
> 
> I would like to say how proud I am of myself and my dearest co writer. We have officially surpassed the beautiful and /nice/ number 69 in terms of reads. (Honestly thank you all so much)

Ahkmenrah allowed Tim to attempt to find his own way out of the temple for a while before finally taking pity on him. He led him through the winding halls and stepped outside just as the sun was making its final descent below the horizon.

On a stone stool near the entrance, a golden crown reflected the dimming daylight. Ahkmenrah picked up the crown and fluidly situated it on top of his hair. Tim was not permitted time to mourn the loss of Ahkmenrah’s unruly curls before the pharaoh started to walk out of the temple. 

He trailed behind Ahkmenrah like a lost puppy as they approached the Old Market. It turned out to be the same market Ahura had dragged him through to get to the temple, but now, as the day grew thin, the place was almost completely deserted. Only a few people walked by, bowing respectfully at Ahkmenrah as they passed, and a few vendors were closing up shop. The other tables had vanished, products gone and safely stored away.

Ahkmenrah regarded the people with a genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. For some reason, he resembled a kid in a candy store, practically skipping down the street. Tim hurried to keep up with him.

Eventually, he must have gotten tired, because he slowed and fell into step beside him.

“So, tell me about yourself, Timothy,” he asked when they were out of earshot of the surrounding people. “Where are you from? I don’t believe I have seen you around.”

Tim swallowed nervously. It wasn’t as if he could tell Ahkmenrah everything, could he? If the exorcising debacle was anything to go by, absolutely not. He had just found his soulmate. He wasn’t prepared to lose him so quickly.

He cast his mind back, trying to come up with a good excuse. “Um . . . I just traveled here from . . . from Crete.”

“Why come here?” Ahkmenrah asked.

“Money. A job, I mean.”

“Were you successful?”

“Uh . . .” Tim thought back to his lie about drinking too much to Jim. “Not exactly.”

“We could fix that. What kind of job are you looking for?”

“I–I don’t know.”

“Hm.” Ahkmenrah eyed him with a contemplative look. “Perhaps some smith work?”

Tim shuddered, thinking of soot, fire, and sweaty armpits. He hated sweaty armpits. “Absolutely not.”

“What about a tailor?”

He shook his head. “Pointy needles . . . not for me.”

Ahkmenrah sighed. “Well . . . we will find something eventually.”

Truth was, it had never even occurred to him that a job was something he would need. But now that he thought about it, he would have to make money at some point. He had left all his cash at the archeology site, and it wasn’t as if the U.S. dollar had much worth in Ancient Egypt anyway.

But then he frowned. He couldn’t believe he’d been distracted. Soulmate or not, he didn’t belong in this timeline. He needed to go home, back to the present, even if Ahkmenrah didn’t come with. The thought left him feeling like there was a gaping hole in his chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered absently. “I guess we will.”

Ahkmenrah nodded, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “Yes. But more importantly, what in the gods’ names are you wearing?”

Tim was still wearing his shorts and t-shirt. He frowned. “Uh . . .”

“We should get you some new clothes. Follow me.”

He grabbed the tips of Tim’s fingers in a way that could just barely be referred to as “holding hands” and dragged him off in a new direction. Tim usually would’ve welcomed this–if not for the fact that Ahkmenrah had grabbed the sprained finger he’d acquired . . . was it really only yesterday?

He hissed in pain and retracted his hand from Ahkmenrah’s as if it had been burned, stuffing it in his pocket. Immediately, he regretted it. Ahkmenrah practically deflated, hurt flashing in his eyes. He was clearly not used to rejection, especially rejection that was so blatant.

Guilt and shame boiled in Tim’s gut, and he reached out with his other hand. Unfortunately, he only succeeded in slapping his knuckles awkwardly.

Ahkmenrah’s eyes were downcast, and he was chewing his lip. It looked like it physically pained him to do so. His teeth were digging so fast and deep, Tim worried he might break the skin.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I–I think I might have hurt my hand when–uh–when I was drinking.”

Ahkmenrah stopped biting his lip and met Tim’s eyes. “Really? Are you alright? Is it broken?”

Tim smiled at his concern. “No, no, I’m fine, really. It’s not broken, just sprained, but it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

Their walk came to a halt. Ahkmenrah was frowning again. “It should not be something you get used to. A sprain can be quite agonizing, from what I hear. Fret not, our next destination will have an abundance of supplies we can use to fix your finger.”

Tim could not wrap his head around Ahkmenrah’s persistent interest in his minor injury. He’d had worse, much worse, and he hadn’t gone to the doctor’s and turned out perfectly fine. Perhaps Ahkmenrah didn’t understand what it was like to actually get hurt. Tim couldn’t imagine he, as the pharaoh, did many activities that would put him in harm's way, besides dealing with deathly boring meetings. (Was that a thing, in Ancient Egypt? Tim couldn’t remember.)

But then again, perhaps Tim was the weird one. Still, he didn’t feel like arguing. He would like to go at least a few days before his soulmate got mad enough to hit him. 

He nodded and started forward, Ahkmenrah falling into step next to him.

They continued on until they reached a stall displaying everything Tim could imagine an Ancient Egyptian would want. Clothes and pendants lined the stands, fabrics were draped over a tall rod, foods were spread around the stall in different categories, and health supplies were laid out on a small stand near the back.

“Here we are.” Ahkmenrah gently took Tim’s wrist and frowned at his pointer finger. “Let us take care of this.”

He led Tim over to the medical supplies. Picking up a strip of cloth, he wrapped Tim’s middle and index finger together before securing it with an adhesive. He felt instantly better.

“Thank you,” he murmured, flexing his hand experimentally.

Wordlessly, Ahkmenrah smiled and took a step back. There was a long pause in which he watched him with brows high on his forehead. He seemed to be waiting for Tim to do something expectantly, though Tim had no idea what that could possibly be. “What?”

“Well, go on.” Ahkmenrah gestured vaguely around the store. “Choose anything that catches your eye.”

Tim paused uncertainly. “Anything?” 

“Yes, anything. I know the owner’s husband. They won’t mind.”

Tim rocked back-and-forth on his heels. “I–I mean . . . are you sure?”

“Whatever you would like, it is yours,” Ahkmenrah replied, a kind glint in his eye.

It took Tim about thirty seconds to realize he was not kidding. With a hesitant smile, he crossed the room and began to sift through a rack of shendyts. A dark, navy blue-striped one caught his eye. Clothes shopping is so much easier with color, a voice sighed in his mind.

A light linen blouse looked like it might go well with the shendyt. He grabbed it as well and headed back to Ahkmenrah. “Is this good?”

“If you deem it good enough, then it is. Do you want to try them on before buying them?” Ahkmenrah replied.

“Yeah, sure.” Tim peered around the stall for a changing room.

There was a long pause while Tim craned his head. Several minutes seemed to pass. Eventually, he gave up, looking back at Ahkmenrah to find him staring at him.

“Are you going to change, Timothy?” It wasn’t creepy, just confused.

“I don’t know where I would.”

“Right . . . right here?” Ahkmenrah asked it like a question, but his inflection said that the answer was obvious to him.

Tim’s experience in Egyptology decided to kick in about two and a half minutes too late. Egyptians had no problem undressing in front of each other. All slaves worked naked, and most children didn’t wear clothes until they were six. But Tim was decidedly not Egyptian.

“Can you, uh, turn around, please?” he squeaked.

Ahkmenrah was confused but did so anyway. Tim thanked his lucky stars he didn’t press him. If he had, Tim wasn’t sure he would have mustered the courage to ask again. 

He tried to get his clothes off as fast as possible without ripping them, the last remnants of the future he had. He took the switchblade out of the pocket of his shorts and, after pulling on the shendyt, slid it onto the waistband. Then he slipped the blouse over his head and cleared his throat for Ahkmenrah to have a look.

“You are dashing.” Ahkmenrah grinned.

After spending weeks in the desert getting sunburned, Tim didn’t think he could have gotten redder, but it seemed this strange, rollercoaster of a day wanted to keep bringing lovely surprises to him.

“But you are missing something,” Ahkmenrah added. In a moment, he had crossed the room to a shelf holding leather sandals, and then to a rack of rope, selecting the most lavish length of rope there was (Tim hadn’t known it was possible for ropes to be lavish, but there was no other way to describe it). The shoes were placed on the sand before his feet. They fit well enough.

When Ahkmenrah stepped close to him, Tim almost balked on instinct. Mentally, he cursed himself. What was wrong with him? This was his soulmate. He had shown him nothing but kindness so far.

Get a fucking grip, his father told him with a snarl.

He didn’t flinch when Ahkmenrah stopped inches from him. In a fluid motion, he slipped the rope over Tim’s head and lowered it to his waist.

“Tell me when it gets too tight.” It sounded like an order, yet Tim knew it wasn’t. Ahkmenrah wasn’t the type to give orders. It was more . . . a suggestion.

Ahkmenrah pulled the rope taut. When Tim was certain it would hold up the shendyt, he told him to stop. Ahkmenrah tied it into a quick knot and stepped back.

“Perfect!” he said with a soft grin, clapping his hands together.

At the sight of his smile, Tim relaxed. His lips tugged up into a slight smile of his own. “Yeah.”

Ahkmenrah reached into his waistband and pulled out a cloth pouch. From it he produced three silver rings and placed them in a box behind the stall counter. “There we are, all done and paid for.”

As they left the stall, Tim murmured, “You really didn’t need to do that.”

“Oh?” Ahkmenrah quirked an eyebrow at him. “And what exactly were you going to pay with?”

He chuckled. “I see your point.” 

A few moments passed in companionable silence as they exited the market. By then, the sun had almost set, and a cool breeze fluttered past them, leaving sand and dust and a faint scent of jasmine in its wake. At long last, Ahkmenrah spoke.

“Timothy, can I be blunt with you?”

Tim nodded. “Of course.”

“You have nowhere to stay here, yes?”

“Yeah.” It occurred to him that he hadn’t even considered where he would spend the night.

“Might I suggest you come and stay at the palace? I normally would not offer, but our . . . predicament is an exception.” 

Tim glanced over to glimpse Ahkmenrah fidgeting with the jewels on the side of his cape.

“I think that sounds like a great idea,” he agreed. “I’ve been wanting to talk things over with you. But separate rooms, right?”

Ahkmenrah smiled, his hands relaxing. “Of course. And I have been hoping to do the same.”

There was another pause. Ahkmenrah peered at the sky.

“It’s getting dark. We should head there now. My mother will be absolutely thrilled to meet you.”

They changed course. Soon, they were traveling near the riverside. For the first time, Tim saw the Nile River as it had been thousands of years in the past.

When he had first seen it in 2005, he’d thought it had been beautiful. The water had been slightly murky, but it still held a beautiful sheen in the sun when the light hit it just right. Now, the river didn’t need the sun to glow. The water was almost crystal clear and seemed to shimmer like magic, as if it truly held the mystical power the Egyptians claimed it did.

“Is it not marvelous?” Ahkmenrah interrupted Tim’s train of thought, noticing his eyes were fixed on the river.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured. “I hadn’t seen it yet.” 

With some effort, Tim tore his gaze from the Nile and turned back to Ahkmenrah, who was staring at him with a furrow on his brow.

“How could you have not? I do not know how one could travel all the way from Crete and not once see this.” Ahkmenrah spread his arms out to motion towards the Nile. “The Iteru is our national treasure, our very way of life. Osiris blessed us with a land perfect for agriculture.”

“What’s Iteru?” Tim questioned.

“It is the river’s name.”

“The river–oh.” He didn’t know how that had never come up in any of his studies.

Ahkmenrah frowned. “Do you not–? Well, a river is a sort of . . . line of water that travels throughout all our realm and to the edges of the world.” 

It took Tim a moment to process. “Yeah, I know what a river is. . . . Wait, edges? What edges?”

“The sides of our world, of course. The end of our plane, the land we reside on right now.”

Tim stared. “You think our world . . . is flat?” When Ahkmenrah nodded, he had to take a second. His soulmate was a Flat Earther. Wonderful.

They rounded a river bend that revealed a four-story sandstone palace. Ahkmenrah spread his arms wide. “Behold. Malkata.”

It seemed low and flat for a royal household, but what it lacked in height it made up for in width; the building must have stretched almost a mile long. It’s stone walls lining the perimeter of the bottom floor acted as a guard from outside forces. Above it, detailed figures were sculpted into green rock, among them gods and even a few winged pegasi. The second and third stories were lined with white pillars set less than a foot apart, offsetting the red and green painted stone behind them.

Large gates with several hieroglyphs and carvings were overseen by palace guards. As they approached, the guards bowed to the pharaoh and moved out of their way. Ahkmenrah soundlessly waved a hand in their direction, indicating for them to straighten up, and the guards obeyed, scrabbling to get out of their king’s way.

Inside the walls, the palace was decorated with more statues of the gods. They climbed the steps to the palace doors, which swung open to reveal a grand entryway. Murals of wars and disasters were painted on the dome ceiling fifty feet above, supported by white pillars similarly constructed to the ones that formed the walls outside. Statues of the gods and former pharaohs were everywhere, pressed into small alcoves. Their mean faces seemed to leer down at Tim, making him squirm.

Ahkmenrah guided him through the halls decorated with more murals, statues, and tapestries. All of the decor was accentuated by riches, jewels, gold, and other types of fine material. One square meter of the palace walls would be enough to pay Tim’s rent for ten years.

At last, a few staircases and several hallways later, the stopped at an extravagant door. 

“This is where I will leave you for the night,” Ahkmenrah said. He pointed at another door aways down the hall. “My chambers are right next to yours. Please do not hesitate to wake me if you need anything. I shall come get you in the morning for breakfast with Mother. I would advise that you do try to sleep through the entire night for it.”

The way he was talking about her, Tim was imagining Ahkmenrah’s mother to look something like Ahura, except with wider eyes and a huge smile.

Ahkmenrah suddenly clutched Tim’s hand, squeezing it once before letting go. “Sleep well.”

They exchanged a small smile before Tim forced his feet to move into his new room. His heart ached for him to run back to the hall and hug Ahkmenrah good night, but he shoved that thought aside. Tonight was not the night, not yet.

He slipped into his room, glancing back once at Ahkmenrah before closing the door behind him. 

His room was large and lit by dozens of candles. It had no windows. Four chests were shoved into a corner near a polished wardrobe, and gold accents outlined all of the wooden furniture. The walls were, again, covered with ornamentally framed paintings of the gods. The Egyptians were certainly devoted.

Compared to the entrance hall, the ceiling was suitable for a Hobbit, but in reality, it was still quite high. A pattern was engraved on its stone, depicting an old myth: the Weighing of the Heart rite, a judgment after death to determine if a person was wicked. The painting beautifully rendered a human heart being weighed on a balanced scale against Ma’at’s Feather of Truth. The jackal-headed God of the Dead Anubis stood by and, in the shadows, the demoness Ammit bared her crocodile teeth, eager for her dinner if the scale tipped in favor of the heart.

Tim tore his eyes away from the ceiling, focusing on the rest of the room. A fireplace was set into the far wall, in which flickered a crackling fire. A bed sat in the center of the chamber, it’s frame made out of some precious metal he couldn’t name. When he pressed his palm down onto the mattress, his entire hand disappeared. Comfy, the voice in his head crooned.

He stripped down to his boxers and donned a soft tunic from the wardrobe. After blowing out all the candles, a rather monotonous process, he pulled the covers back and slipped under the heavy sheets. His body literally sank into the mattress, and he let out an audible sigh. Letting his heavy eyes drift closed, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh! I feel bad for not updating y’all. Me and my beautiful co writer love to stay ahead of the grain, as such, we always have at least two chapters already written before publishing a new one, so we were working on those.
> 
> {And I was working on my own secret fic that I’m quiet proud of ;)}
> 
> The next few chapters might be a bit slow, so we’ll try to update more often. Rest assure, not matter how much time goes by, don’t think we’ve abandoned this fic, it’s honestly a joy to write!
> 
> Dumb political nonsense: the BLM movement has REALLY kicked off in my state, as the murder of a black man from my state made international news, because of this, I was deprived of the will to write for a few days. I’m back to form now, and I encourage all of you to go protest. I did it today with my friends and it was honestly so fun and liberating <3


	6. Meet the Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim meets Shepseheret, Ahkmenrah's mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter :) Hope you like it!

Tim dreamt about nothing that night, which he was incredibly fortunate for. His dreams never brought him anything except scenes straight out of a dumb horror flick. 

He was half awake when he heard the chamber door swing open and back closed. Too sleepy to lift his head and greet whoever entered his room, he kept his eyes closed. A few moments passed and no one had spoken a word to him. They must have gotten the wrong chamber and left once they realized their mistake.

Just when Tim was about to roll over and go back to sleep, he heard a stifled snort. With a start, his eyes flew open.

Ahkmenrah stood by the bedside, eyes bugging out of his head and hand covering his mouth, shaking with suppressed mirth.

Tim yelped, scrambling upright. “What the hell?!” he rasped, his voice deep with sleep.

Ahkmenrah quickly sobered up, his expression smoothing over in an instant, his hand loosely falling to his side. “I apologize, Timothy, but your face was rather humorous.”

Tim sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “You scared the shit out of me.” But even as he said it, his rapidly beating heart slowed to its constant, steady rhythm.

Wordlessly, Ahkmenrah offered Tim his hand. He took it and lifted himself to his feet.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Tim walked over to his discarded clothes from last night. This time, when he turned to look back at Ahkmenrah, the Pharaoh got the message immediately, albeit with a small crease in his brow. Nevertheless, he turned, allowing Tim some privacy to quickly get dressed.

He was about to meet Ahkmenrah by the door when the glint of metal in sunlight blinded him. It was his switchblade; it must have fallen out of his waistband yesterday. Tim quickly shoved it into his  _ shendyt _ and joined Ahkmenrah, hoping the pharaoh didn’t notice.

They made it a long way down the hall before Tim realized it was rude that he hadn’t asked how Ahkmenrah had slept. “Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

“Very good, thank you for asking,” Ahkmenrah replied.

The boys rounded a corner and almost slammed into a group of men. They were tall and wide-birthed, unmistakably warriors, yet something about their rich attire told Tim they were nobility. Ahkmenrah grabbed Tim’s tunic just in time to prevent him from slamming head-first into a man’s silver chest plate.

The men heeded them no mind, however, their gaze fixed upon someone in the middle of the crowd, someone with a curt, undoubtedly feminine voice.

“–crops to the northern villages,” she was saying brusquely in a faint British accent. “Make sure resources are distributed among the people equally, leaving some for storage. And Heqanahkt, take some of your men to guard it. We don’t want any raiders getting into them again.”

_ My mother, _ Ahkmenrah mouthed at Tim.

She spoke with regal authority, and the men didn’t argue. They bowed and parted without a word, revealing two middle-aged women. One was dressed in the clothes Tim now understood as being the fashion norm. She was the epitome of plan looking with the classic Egyptain black wig.

The other woman’s clothes resembled Ahkmenrah’s. Gold seemed to drip off her. Jewels were embedded into the dress she was wearing. She wore a crown like a golden cap over a wig, with dark hair hanging down to her shoulders. She had a round face, large eyes, and pouty lips, greatly accentuated by the makeup she wore. Just by looking at her once, it was easy to tell who she was: the queen.

A silence fell between them as the men marched away. Neither Ahkmenrah nor the two women spoke. But as soon as the men disappeared around the corner, a brilliant smile lit up the queen’s face, making her eyes dance. Suddenly, she no longer looked like a queen, rather more like a kid tempted with an enormous bag of candy. With a short, high-pitched sound that could only be described as a squeak, she rushed to Ahkmenrah, throwing her hands around his neck and pressing her nose to his forehead. When she drew back, she rested her hand lovingly on his cheek. “Oh, Ahkmen, it feels as though I haven’t seen you in years–”

Ahkmenrah turned bright red. “It’s only been a day, Mother,” he grumbled. 

“Yet it feels like years. Oh, my dear boy, you look lovely.” She patted his cheek once before letting her hand fall, turning to Tim. “And who is this? A friend?”

Ahkmenrah cleared his throat. “Yes. Erm, this is Timothy. Timothy, this is my mother, Queen Shepseheret.”

Tim tried to give her a small smile, but his nerves overtook the muscles in his face. He felt strangely detached as if he no longer could control his own limbs. But Ahkmenrah’s mother just appeared to be so . . . so . . .  _ loving. _

He swallowed hard and attempted to speak, but again, his fear overcame him. What if he said something wrong? The last thing he wanted was for his soulmate’s mother to detest him. And if she detested him, what was to stop Ahmenrah from thinking the same? The two were clearly close. 

Tim couldn’t risk it. Like a turtle in its shell, he folded in on himself, saying nothing.

Ahkmenrah brushed his hand lightly against Tim’s. He suddenly felt a surge of confidence in his gut, all of his worries melting away. It took him a moment to realize what had happened. This was how Ahkmenrah felt at the moment, smooth, calm, and assured. With newfound strength, Tim could speak again.  _ Thank God for soulbonds. _

“Hello, your majesty.” he thought about adding a bow but deemed it unwise. He had no idea what gestures were considered respectful in Ancient Egypt. He’d never bothered to learn, considering the knowledge to be amply useless, but now he regretted not doing more research.

“There is no need to call her that, Timothy,” Ahkmenrah dismissed. “My mother is Shepseheret to you.”

Privately, he worried he would pronounce her name wrong. He repeated her name over and over in his head, committing it to memory.  _ Shep-seh-HERE-eht, Shep-seh-HERE-eht, Shep-seh-HERE-eht . . . _

Shepseheret furrowed her brow. “Why is that?”

Like a dam had been broken, Ahkmenrah’s face split into a grin. He grabbed his mother’s forearms in excitement.

Tim waited for Shepseheret to push Ahkmenrah away. Instead, she mimicked her son’s expression with a small gasp. “Ahkmen, are you hiding something from me?”

Had he not told her yet?

“Yes, mother, wonderful things.” Ahkmenrah placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Timothy here is my soulmate.”

Shepseheret didn’t react. She just stood there with her mouth hanging open wide, staring in shock.

Tim’s heart stopped, his mind immediately spiraling to a dozen different scenarios.

Seeing as Shepseheret was not responding, the woman beside her spoke up. “That is great, Ahkmenrah!”

“Thank you, Kekheretnebti. Colors are truly the most beautiful creation of the gods.”

“Oh, yes, are they not? Iteru just looks so much more magnificent with color.”

Ahkmenrah still waited patiently for his mother to answer. “I never thought the sunshine sparkling off it had color in itself. It is truly astonishing.”

At last, Shepseheret found it possible to speak once more. “Oh, Ahkmen.” She reached out a hand.

Tim tensed, ready to throw Ahkmenrah out of harm’s way and take whatever blow Shepseheret was going to deal himself, but before he could move, she had placed a hand in her son’s curly hair.

“You have  _ no _ idea how happy I am for you,” she said, literal tears welling in his eyes.

“I am sure I do,” Ahkmenrah murmured under his breath, quiet enough so she could not hear but Tim could. It was spoken without malice in a loving, teasing way. Shepseheret wrapped Ahkmenrah in another firm embrace, and when she turned to Tim and did the same, Ahkmenrah smiled at him apologetically with an expression that clearly read,  _ Get used to this. _

With her arms circling him, her warmth seeping into his skin, Tim thought,  _ This isn’t so bad.  _

All too soon, she released him. Her eyes still sparkled with more unshed tears. “Please, Timothy, come and join us for breakfast.”

“That sounds magnificent,” he replied, trying to mirror the dialect of Shepseheret, but ended up just sounding like an idiot. 

Still, he meant it. He really did.

Kekheretnebti led the way down the hall to a large, golden-hued chamber. Several guards were stationed around the chamber, positioned by the usual ornamental decorations scattered along the wall along with tapestries of the gods. But the centerpiece of the brightly lit room was a long table piled with plates of every food imaginable–eggs scrambled with pork, cheese, bread–steaming and sending wafts of delicious smells all across the room. There were even a few pitchers of beer because, you know, what meal is complete without beer?

Tim’s stomach grumbled as he sat down next to Ahkmenrah. Shepseheret took the seat at the head of the table, while Kekheretnebti sat in the chair beside her.

“You may leave us now.” Ahkmenrah dismissed the guards with a flick of his wrist.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Shepseheret, who’d been sitting ramrod straight in her chair, lounged against the seatback. “So, what do you think?” 

Ahkmenrah titled his head. “Think of what mother?” he asked mildly.

“Of the colors! When your father and I first got ours we could barely contain ourselves. Fascinating, are they not?”

“Indeed, they are quite lovely.” Ahkmenrah passed a plate of scrambled eggs and pork over to Tim. He placed a good amount on his plate, but not too much. He was a guest, after all, and greedy was not a good first impression.

Shepseheret’s interest wasn’t quelled just yet. “What is your favorite color so far?” 

“Oh goodness, mother, what a difficult question to answer.” Ahkmenrah considered it carefully. “I must say that green is simply stunning, but gold is also appealing to me.” He paused for a second before he refined his statement. “Maybe not gold . . . perhaps yellow is a better word. It is bright and lively and reminds me of Ra.”

“That is an amazing choice, darling. I am sure Ra will be thrilled to hear it.” Shepseheret smiled warmly at her son.

From there, the conversation moved on to politics. Tim was quiet, preferring to listen rather than assert his own opinion. They spoke only of current and local affairs, when Shepseheret mentioned a skirmish that occured in the New Market Ahkmenrah grew quiet and allowed her to lead the topic.

The others didn’t pressure him to speak. This suited him just fine, he was not interested in getting into a political debate.

Eventually, Kekheretnebti got up and filled Shepseheret’s and Ahkmenrah’s cups with beer before she turned to Tim. Ahkmenrah seemed to be waiting for this, as he quickly shot out his hand to block Kekheretnebti’s path.

“Timothy is not thirsty, thank you, my dear Kekheretnebti.” His tone was sweet and polite but left no room for any sort of argument, not that Kekheretnebti would have tried.

“Ahkmen,” Shepseheret chastised, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “That is no way to treat a guest, especially one of his importance.”

Tim flushed. Shepseheret was being far too nice to him, considering they had literally just met. **  
**   
“I am aware, mother.” Ahkmenrah’s cheeks flushed, shifting slightly in his seat. “But Timothy truly is not thirsty. Correct?”   
  


He was actually, but he certainly didn’t want beer. Then again, Ahkmenrah didn’t know that, did he? Was this some kind of punishment? Was he irritated with him? But then he remembered: Jim had told Ahkmenrah that Tim was an alcoholic. The fact that Ahkmenrah cared enough to recall this and even made an attempt to quell Tim’s “addiction” was actually pretty sweet.

“Timothy?” Shepseheret snapped her fingers in the vague direction of Tim’s face. 

He blinked, realizing he wore a stupid smile. He flushed. “Yes. I mean, yeah, I’m not thirsty. But, uh, thank you for offering, Kekheretnebti.”

She bowed her head in acknowledgment. Shepseheret gave him a suspicious glance but didn’t press him.

Both Tim and Shepseheret had finished their breakfast when Ahkmenrah declared himself done by placing down his weird fork. As it clattered against the plate, Kekheretnebti swiftly put down her own as well, even though she still had a quarter of her food left.

Ahkmenrah let out of a low whistle that echoed throughout the chamber. At this, the guards entered the room again and stood in a line, waiting for their pharaoh to speak.

“Tlepolemus, come forward.” Ahkmenrah sounded indifferent as a man in armor came to the front of the group. “Do tell me where Janus and Semo are? I have not seen them all day.”

After thinking for a bit, Tlepolemus spoke carefully, his voice so deep that it seemed to reverberate in Tim’s chest. “I believe Janus is currently presiding over a case of thievery, and Semo is feeling under the weather, last I heard.”   
  


The guard was smart not to state any of his words as facts. That could lessen the punishment if he was found to be wrong or lying.

Ahkmenrah’s expression twisted with worry. “Is Semo alright? Does he need a doctor?”

“Not that I know of. I believe it is just a basic fever and a cough . . . he should be better within the week.” 

“Keep me updated on his status. Tell me the minute anything changes.” The guard nodded; Ahkmenrah smiled and stood. “Wonderful! Now, Mother, I will be leaving with Timothy to the Old Market. We shall be going alone.”   
  


All of the guards shifted their eyes to each other. It was clear they wanted to argue with him, if only to ensure the safety of their leader.

“Your Majesty, are you certain? We would be more than happy to accompany you to the Market,” one of the guards piped up. What surprised Tim was surprised by how sincere the guard sounded, like he legitimately cared about Ahkmenrah’s wellbeing. If Tim were the guard, he would have been more than happy to take the day off if his boss offered it to him.

“I am,” Ahmernah replied. “We will be leaving shortly. Is that adequate to you, Timothy?”

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’d be glad to.” 

Ahkmenrah beamed at him, but the guards glared as if he presented an immediate danger to Ahkmenrah.

“Delightful.” Ahkmenrah clapped his hands together before frowning. “Oh, and Tlepolemus? Can you check on Kahmun? He has not been out of his chamber in days.”

Tlepolemus flinched violently. “We have tried, my pharaoh. He has been . . . well, to be frank, he has been rather difficult towards any servant that has tried to interact with him.”   
  
Ahkmenrah grimaced but didn’t look shocked. “Just check in on him, please? At least make sure he is eating?”

Tlepolemus gave him his word and then backed out of the room with a bow. The other guards followed suit, the last one closing the door behind him with a low  _ boom. _

Shepseheret and Kekheretnebti rose from their seats. Ahkmenrah, at his mother’s insurance, gave her a quick hug. Before Tim could process what was happening, he too was swept into Shepseheret’s arms.

“Oh, I am so proud,” she said softly, almost in a whimper, squeezing him tightly once before releasing him. Again, her eyes glistened with tears. “Have fun, my dears.”

With a shaky breath, she collected herself and left the room. Kekheretnebti trailed after her, offering them a slow smile before the doors closed behind them, leaving Ahmenrah and Tim alone in the hall.

There was a short pause. 

“That went well, yes?” Ahkmenrah said in a high, meek voice. “Did it go well? Meeting my mother was not too much pressure?”   
  


Tim nodded, staring at the closed door. He could still feel traces of Shepseheret’s warmth.  _ Motherly warmth. _ “It was fine, Ahkmenrah. I just–where I’m from, meeting the parents is a big event. But I . . . she’s–she’s obviously a big part of your life, and I l-like her. I really do.”

Ahkmenrah smiled slightly, but he deflated slightly. “I am sorry, Timothy. I really should have asked you if it was acceptable for you to meet my mother. I know she can be a little bit . . . eccentric.”

“No more eccentric than you, Ahkmenrah,” Tim blurted without thinking. “Ah, shit, I didn’t mean that. It was meant to sound encouraging, but now I sound like a huge dick. Being eccentric isn’t a bad thing.” He felt like beating his head in.

Ahkmenrah chuckled softly. “Well, now it feels like we are running in circles.” Tim nodded in agreement. “What do you say we head to the market and find you a job to occupy your time? That is if you’re up to it?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”


	7. Freddie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Ahkmenrah visit a market

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHK! It’s been forever lol
> 
> IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: THE TITLE WILL BE CHANGED AS OF THE NEXT UPDATE! IT WILL NOW BE CALLED “DO NOT SWEAR BY THE MOON”
> 
> Xoxo Alle

They walked to the Old Market through a back path, so they weren’t disturbed by anyone. They took the time for small talk, commenting on the weather, pesky mosquitoes, and favorite foods. It was pleasant. Ahkmenrah’s favorite food, incidentally, was foie gras–duck liver. 

Despite the peacefulness of the day, the silence pressed on him. He was constantly reminded of the palace guards and their worried looks as their pharoah insisted he go with Tim alone. Was there a possibility of danger? The switchblade against his waist seemed to grow cold even in the desert heat, and he took careful note of its presence, the muscles of his fingers tense and ready to fly to his waistband at a moment’s notice.

They arrived at the Old Market safe and sound. People swarmed the stalls, kicking up dust and sand everywhere. Ahkmenrah led him through the crowd, heading for a stall Tim recognized. It was the same one he had gotten his clothes from the night before. Today, it was packed, with dozens of people crowded around it, holding bags of riches they hoped to trade for goods.

A man stood behind the counter of the stall. He had an oval face, a strong jaw, and a sculpted nose. His raven hair was silky and fell in perfect waves near his chin. He wore a one-piece outfit that in modern times would be considered a dress, but it was more suited for a masculine form.

Upon seeing their pharaoh approaching the stall, the crowd swiftly separated, dumping their would-be purchases on the ground and rushing off to other stalls, heads down. The man behind the counter huffed and turned to them.   
  


“Ahkmenrah, dear, you must stop coming to the stall during the day.” His mouth seemed too big for his face, and his buck teeth stuck out from his jaw. He began to busy himself with the dropped merchandise, placing them back on their respective racks. “It is bad for business.” His words were harsh but his tone was light.

“Good morning to you as well, Freddie,” Ahkmenrah said, a soft smile ghosting his lips. 

Freddie finished cleaning up and leaned over to give Ahkmenrah a side embrace. As he did, his eyes rested on Tim.

“You must be Tim.” He stated this as an absolute fact without a single hint of uncertainty in his deep voice.

“How did you–” Tim paused, thinking. “Are you the same Freddie that is married to Jim?”

“Oh, yes!” Freddie smiled widely, happy Tim had figured it out himself. “Did he mention me much?”   
  


“He did. Jim invited me over to your house tomorrow,” Tim explained.

“I heard. Darling?” Freddie focused on Ahkmenrah, who had drifted off in thought. “Why has Tim joined you on a walk?”   
  


“Well, that brings me to the reason we are here,” Ahkmenrah replied. “Would it be a terrible burden if Tim were to join you as an assistant in the stall?”

Freddie mulled over the question. “Is he a good worker?”

They both eyed Tim, waiting for his answer. He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. I worked at Sears–uh, I mean, I’ve worked in retail before.”

Both men gave him a look like he was insane. “Re-tail?” Freddie repeated slowly, sounding out each syllable as if it were the first time he’d heard the word.

  
“Uh, I mean, I’ve worked with clothes and stuff before,” Tim corrected quickly.

Freddie considered him. “Alright, then. It would be nice to have help in the stall. However, I would not be able to pay you well.”

Ahkmenrah was quick to clear things up. “Oh, do not worry about that. Timothy is staying at the Malkata palace with me and my family. All of his expenses there are being paid for.”

That piqued Freddie’s curiosity. “Really now? Darling, you must tell me”–he stretched forward, lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear–“why exactly have you taken such an interest in Tim?”

Tim and Ahkmenrah exchanged looks. Wordlessly, Tim nodded.

With a glance around, Ahkmenrah leaned even closer. “He is my soulmate,” he whispered, so low Tim could hardly hear.

Freddie’s jaw dropped. He let out a small cry, quiet at first, but gaining volume quickly. Ahkmenrah quickly clapped his hand over Freddie’s lips to prevent him from shrieking. “Hush. You must not tell anyone. Not even Jim. I am trusting you, do you understand?”

Freddie nodded his head and Ahkmenrah released him. “By the gods!” he exclaimed in a whisper. “Ahk, I am so happy for you. Getting your colours is one of the best events in a person’s life.” He pulled Ahkmenrah towards him and pressed his nose to his cheek, causing Ahmenrah to flush bright fuchsia.

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, “I–I am quite thrilled, and I hope Timothy is as well.” Tim nodded as Freddie drew back, his eyes dancing. “Now, can I assume you will be training Timothy for his new job tomorrow?”

Freddie grinned. “Of course, dear! Anything for our pharaoh’s  _ soulmate _ .” 

Ahkmenrah rolled his eyes but smiled. Tim felt hot.

“I do mean it, Fred,” said Ahkmenrah, growing serious. “Please do not tell anyone about this.”

“I would never,” Freddie assured. “I gave my word.”

Ahkmenrah nodded. “Thank you.”

They were about to walk away when Tim thought he should bring something up. “Oh, Freddie?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Good luck with Ahura today.”

  
Freddie paled. “What? What do you mean? Is Ahura coming over?”

“Yeah. She and Jim agreed they would meet up today for a bit of beer.” Ahkmenrah flinched when Tim mentioned alcohol, still worried about Tim’s supposed “alcoholism.”

Freddie swore fluently in Egyptian before clearing his throat. “Thank you for informing me. I was unaware. It appears I must go to the temple now. And Ahk?”

“Hm?”   
  
“Jim will be indisposed for the rest of the day. I trust that the other priests will be able to tend to the gods?” Ahkmenrah nodded. “Good.”

Freddie quickly locked up the box containing various riches people had traded for his products and rushed off in the direction of the Luxor Temple without so much as a backward glance. For a moment, they stared after him. Then Tim turned to Ahkmenrah. 

“Should we be worried about what Freddie is about to do to Jim?” Part of Tim wondered if Freddie was going to the Luxor Temple just to beat Jim for not telling him that they were going to have company that day. 

“Oh, he will be fine,” Ahkmenrah said offhandedly. “It’s not like Freddie is going to hit Jim.” Damn, he was essentially reading his mind. Tim furrowed his brow. It was a good enough reason to be hit.

But he could never hit Ahkmenrah like that, Tim added. He was not a violent person, and he couldn’t fathom hurting someone, especially someone he cared about.

_ “Care about?” Come on Tim. You just met him. Don’t act like you know how you feel about him yet. Besides, you’re nowhere near good enough for Ahkmenrah to care about you. _

Ahkmenrah’s voice rang out, but it seemed muffled as if he were speaking on the other end of a long tube. “He would never,” he assured, brow furrowed with concern. “Freddie loves Jim, why would he hurt him?”

_ Great! Now he feels bad. He wouldn’t if it weren’t for you. Soulmate of the year award. _

Distantly, Tim heard himself reply, “Yeah . . . you’re right. I don’t know why I said that.”

Meanwhile, the world blurred around him. There was a loud ringing in his ears, and he could just barely make out Ahkmenrah’s unconvinced expression.

_ You’re lucky to even have him in your life right now. He is so much better than you will ever be. I would tell you to try not to fuck this up, but why bother with the inevitable? _

“Well, there is a certain place I have been meaning to show you. Would you accompany me?”

Ahkmenrah’s voice grounded him, sending him crashing back into reality. Pinching his eyes shut, he took several deep, gulping breaths, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. He forced a smile. “Sounds good to me.”   
  


They set off down the secret path. As soon as they had slipped out of sight, Ahkmenrah treaded his fingers through Tim’s and squeezed gently. 

_ Savor this. It won’t last long. _


	8. The Monument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim bonds with his soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, the wrong part was updated! If you read it, spoiler alert :)

The desert sun was starting to bother Tim. His pale skin wasn’t suited for this weather, and he was going to get a wicked burn soon if he hadn’t already. His hand was probably wetter than the Nile, and he wouldn’t blame Ahkmenrah if he released his hand. Nevertheless, Ahkmenrah kept his hand tightly interlocked with Tim’s. He was significantly closer to his side by the time they had reached Malkata.

They walked past the palace and continued down the gravel road. “Are you planning to tell me where we’re going?” asked Tim lightly.

“Perhaps, or perhaps it will be a surprise.” Ahkmenrah grinned. He did that often, Tim realized. He liked that about him.

Soon, two large statues came into view, sitting on stone blocks and facing Tim and Ahkmenrah. They each depicted pristinely sculpted men with similar facial structures wearing the clothes of a pharaoh. Unlike most of the statues in Thebes, these shined as if they were just polished. They were, to put it simply, absolutely stunning. The sandy mountain range in the background only made them more so.

Tim gaped at the statues as they neared. “What is this?” They had to have been at least sixteen feet tall; they towered over him.

“It is our newest addition to the plethora of statues we make in honor of the pharaoh’s we have lost.” Ahkmenrah laid his free hand on the carved stone of one sculpture, the other still gripping Tim’s.

“What pharaoh is this depicting?” Tim placed his hand next to Ahkmenrah’s. It was burning hot. How could Ahmenrah stand it? Tim whipped his hand back with a low hiss of pain.

“Pharaoh Amenhotep the Third. He died dozens of summers ago, but this was built recently.” Ahkmenrah removed his hand and nodded to a stone bench a few meters away. He sat down, dragging Tim with him.

“Why aren’t your citizens visiting these statues?” Tim asked. “They’re incredible. They can’t just be kept stowed away in some corner of Thebes.” He could barely keep his eyes off them. It was something he’d always admired, the Ancient Egyptians building capabilities. How could they possibly make something so elaborate and extravagant without the help of modern building tools?

“We only have to name the statues before the opening ceremony,” Ahkmenrah said, squinting at the statue’s head. Tim looked too, shielding his eyes from the blinding sunlight. The statue’s chiseled features seemed to regard him with unforgiving eyes.

“I do hope they will like it,” Ahkmenrah continued, fiddling with his  _ shendyt. _ “This is the first time I have directed the building of one of our monuments.”

Tim blinked in shock. “What—your first time? Ahkmenrah, this is the kind of quality I would expect from a professional architect.”

Ahkmenrah fried and failed to suppress a pleased smile. “R-really? Oh, thank you.” His smile faded, and he gazed at the distant mountain range, his eyes cloudy and unfocused. “It is nice to hear that from someone who is not forced to agree with everything I say. My vizier, Janus, offered me some constructive criticism on how the statues should be positions, but other than that no one dares to challenge anything that comes out of my mouth.” He let out a long sigh. “It’s rather annoying.”

Tim licked his lips. “I get that.” He really didn’t. If anything, Tim would be thrilled to be in Ahkmenrah’s position. The thought of freedom eluded him, like a fish chasing a lure on a fishing line. As much as he loved his grandpa, he was slightly overprotective, especially after the park fiasco. And don’t even get Tim started on his parents. Karl and Edie Murphy were the furthest things from liberal when it came to giving Tim and his sister Lex freedoms.

Ahkmenrah’s voice snapped Tim from his thoughts. “Are you ready to talk about it?” 

His heart missed a beat.

“Talk about what?” he choked out. The peacefulness that had consumed him waned at an exponential rate. His mind raced. Was he going to leave Tim? They hadn’t even kissed! Ahkmenrah couldn’t break up with him yet!

Just because they were soulmates did not give them the status of dating. Tim barely knew Ahkmenrah, and he wasn’t even sure that he had a crush on him. Don’t get him wrong, he  _ did _ like him . . . but not like that. Not yet.

Society told Tim the minute he got his colors he should jump Ahkmenrah’s bones the first chance he got. But he didn’t feel inclined to do that at all. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he should feel inclined. But, though he tried, he couldn’t picture it. Dating, he could imagine; romance, yes. But a little three-letter word beginning with  _ S?  _ Absolutely not.

Without it, he wasn’t certain what would become of their relationship.

Even soulmate relationships could end in ruin. Toxicity, neglect, abuse . . . it could all happen. It had happened, and often too. Was that Tim’s fate, as well? Was he cursed to have an other-half that belittled him or mocked him or, worse, didn’t want anything to do with him?

Tim tried to calm himself down. He was spirling and it wasn’t helping anybody, least of all himself. Besides, he was probably overacting; Ahkmenrah hadn’t even told him what he wanted to talk to him about yet. Maybe it wasn’t even about them.

So he took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and croaked, “I’m sorry?”

“About this,” Ahkmenrah clarified. “About us.”

With those damning words, Tim’s hand went limp in Ahkmenrah’s grasp. He hunched over, suddenly feeling like throwing up the breakfast he’d eaten that morning.

Everything had been so peaceful up until that moment, so calm and serene. But now, all he wanted to do was run away and hide from the world. 

“Timothy?” Ahkmenrah exclaimed, his eyes wide with worry. “Tim! Are you alright?”

Tim took several deep breaths, but they did nothing to calm his churning stomach. He turned to retch, splattering the base of the beautiful statue with bile.

“Oh, my gods! Tim, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” Ahkmenrah jumped from his seat, kneeling before him and grasping his shoulders tightly. “Talk to me.”

Tim gulped, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand. “I—I’m good. It’s just—” He inhaled sharply. “It’s been a long few days.” He let out a breathy laugh he didn’t mean. “Guess all the stress is catching up to me.”

The worry didn’t leave Ahkmenrah’s eyes, but he let out a low huff that somewhat resembled laughter. “I can not imagine a trek through the desert would be easy.”   


_ If only it were that.  _ “I’ll be fine. I can deal with it.” He forced a smile and straightened up again. “I–um, w-what did you want to—to talk about?” The words burned on his tongue.

Ahkmenrah frowned as if he wanted to press Tim further, but he let it go. “I—I just . . . I know we only met yesterday afternoon, but we are meant to be together. The gods have chosen us.”   


Tim was not surprised that Ahkmenrah related soulmates to the gods. He’d noticed that almost everyone in Thebes was obsessed with connecting anything in Egypt with their gods. He supposed this was due to the lack of science.

“However, I do not want to rush,” Ahkmenrah continued. “If it is alright with you, I would like to take our relationship slow. That is if you want a relationship?”   


Ahkmenrah’s eyes were wide with hope. Tim swallowed and looked away.

He wasn’t really for this conversation. Having a relationship—being close to somebody—meant giving up the sliver of freedom he’d worked so hard to obtain. But he knew that by denying Ahkmenrah, he was only delaying the inevitable. Ahkmenrah would undoubtedly get tired of him eventually and would ask for more in the relationship,  _ slow _ be damned. 

But as he looked at Tim with eyes so open and honest, Tim couldn’t see the lie. If Ahkmenrah wanted a slow relationship, he likely meant it. And slow would give Tim a chance to adjust, would allow him time to sort through his feelings and devise a way to hold onto the freedom he had. 

Besides, he liked Ahkmenrah. He was sweet, sympathetic, and kind. He helped others without a second thought, never pausing to consider himself. He was, in truth, so unbelievably  _ good,  _ Tim didn’t quite know what to do with him. 

_ Do you want a relationship? _

He turned to Ahkmenrah. “I do.” 

Ahkmenrah positively beamed at him. Tim felt a minute smile tug on his lips in response.

A comfortable silence fell between them. Ahkmenrah sat back down beside Tim, offering his hand to him as he did. Tim took it, threading his fingers through his, content with the familiar pressure. Guiltily, he glanced at the splatter of vomit on the statue’s base, an imperfection on the perfect marble.

“I’m sorry about that,” he mumbled, ducking his head.

Ahkmenrah waved him off. “No worries. The servants will clean it up.”

There was a short pause before Ahkmenrah spoke once more. “How was your life in Crete? Is it nice there?” 

_ How the hell should I know?  _ Tim swallowed. He was such a horrible liar. His mind scrambled for an excuse, but for some reason, it was inexplicably blank. After a long moment’s pause, he let out a low sigh.  _ Now was as good as time as any, to tell the truth, _ he supposed.

“Uh . . . yeah. It—it’s pretty big too. I lived on the coast of the shore in a two-story house with my parents and my sister.”

“You have a sister?”   


“Yeah, Lex. But we aren’t close anymore. When I was nine, Lex and I went to live with my grandpa for a while. After a week or two, we came back to our old house in Honolulu to find it packed up. My parents suddenly decided we would move to a city halfway across the country called Chicago.” He did not like to think about his family, especially not his mother and father, but reminiscing about his move to Illinois gave him a comforting sense of nostalgia. 

“What was it like in—in shique-aa-go?” Ahkmenrah stumbled over the city’s pronunciation, which Tim found rather amusing and endearing.

“Imagine buildings that are dozens of times taller than this statue.” Tim gestured to the two pharaohs in front of them. “They’re not made of stone like they are here, rather cheap but sturdy metal. And they each have thousands of windows.”

Ahkmenrah’s mouth had fallen open. He shook his head slightly. “You have quite the creative prowess.”

“I swear, I’m telling the truth.”

Ahkmenrah seemed to accept this answer. “Did you live in a rich part of town?”

“Well, my grandpa was rich. He never gave any of it to my parents. He didn’t trust them with it.”

_ And for good reason,  _ said a snide voice in the back of his head.

“But we were still well-off. We lived in an apartment—uh, a small house with people living under, next to, and beneath us. Chicago was a downgrade from our old town . . . but it was still nice, I guess.”

The city itself was, at least, though Tim preferred the quiet of Hawaii and helping out the tourists. But the main reason he’d disliked Chicago had nothing to do with the location, but rather what the location had meant. How everything changed.

He shook himself from his thoughts. “What about you? Have you lived in Thebes your whole life?”

Ahkmenrah nodded, his shoulders slumping. “I have. Malkata palace has been our bloodline’s home since Amenhotep the Third built it for his wife, Tiy. But it sounds nowhere near as extravagant as what you described in your homeland.”

“It’s not as great as it might seem. The way we make everything leaves a toxin in our atmosphere. It makes the air smell funny and it’s bad for our lungs.” Tim decided to hold off on explaining climate change; he wasn’t sure Ahkmenrah was ready for that part yet.

Ahkmenrah stared off into the distance, apparently trying to digest it all. “Why were you unable to find work in Chicago?”

“Huh?” His mind raced. What had he told him again—? Ah, of course. Tim had said he’d been looking for a job. “Oh, it wasn’t that I was unable to find work exactly. I just . . . lost interest in Crete, and I figured I could get better pay in—in Kemet anyways.” Egypt was a modern term, he remembered from Egyptology. The Egyptians called their land Kemet.

“Do they talk about us much?” Ahkmenrah asked. “In Crete, I mean.” 

“Yeah, especially you and the other Pharaohs. You're kind of famous in Crete.”

Ahkmenrah’s eyes lit up. “Are we now? How brilliant!” The compliment corrected his posture to make him appear more regal and refined.

But then he frowned. “You do not believe in that foolish religion they practice over in Crete, do you?”

Tim was actually a proud atheist; that wasn’t something he would shy away from. He was a man of science, not voodoo magic and empty faith. People like Ahura solidified this opinion, though he oddly admired them, in a way. To believe there was a higher power, a great force of good that protected you wherever you went . . . Tim wished he could believe that too. But if that were the case, where was God?

However, Ahkmenrah was the head of the Egyptian religion. Hearing his soulmate did not support his beliefs could put him off, especially in a time when science hardly existed and religion ruled supreme. Tim didn’t fancy losing his head anytime soon, quite literally.

“‘Course not,” he grunted in reply. “When I was younger, a missionary admitted my family into the custom religion here in Kemet. I’ve practiced ever since.”

Ahkmenrah slumped in relief. “I didn’t know many other people outside of Kemet were loyal to our ways. My mother does not let me engage much in religious politics outside of Kemet.” He flushed.

Tim couldn't help but find that slightly amusing. “You still listen to your mother? You do realize you are the leader of one of the strongest lands in history?”

Ahkmenrah let out nothing short of a giggle. “I suppose I am. But my mother has always had a fear of other religions corrupting me.” His smile faded, and his lips pressed into a tight line. “My brother has often been involved in other religious affairs. I do not believe he has worshiped other gods, but my father always thought he was too invested in the readings of your land.” Ahkmenrah’s mood noticeably diminished as soon as he mentioned his brother’s name and soured even more when he talked about his father.

“You didn’t tell me you have a brother,” Tim remarked.

This, if anything, only deepened Ahkmenrah’s frown. “I do. His name is Kahmun. He is older than me and a bit . . . tumultuous, at times—he lets his emotions get the best of him and acts rashly—but he is simply confused, is all.” He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself more than Tim.

Tim didn’t know how to respond. Fortunately for him, after a short paused, Ahkmenrah forged on.

“A few weeks ago, chaos broke out in the New Market. Someone had tried to start an uprising—a former close friend of my brother’s. He tried to instill doubt of the strength of my leadership into my citizens.” Ahkmenrah clenched his hand into a fist so tight his knuckles went white. “My brother—I cannot fathom having my trust betrayed like his was. Ever since, he has been locked in his room. He has not been out in a few days. Admittedly, I am starting to worry for him. . . .”

Ahkmenrah trailed off, his eyes downcast. Then he blinked a few times, his expression clearing. He cleared his throat, blushing slightly and shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

“I am sorry,” he mumbled. “You did not need to hear that.”

But Tim was touched by the sincerity. The pharaohs of Egypt were known to have a certain standard expected by the citizens. Because they were meant to be descended directly from the gods and the gods were heavily associated with the Nile, the pharaohs were seen as the mortal embodiment of the Great River. Calm, collected, striking, cool, reliable, and powerful above all.

It wasn’t far-fetched to presume Ahkmenrah was raised with these values just the same as his ancestors were, so it surprised him that Ahkmenrah felt comfortable to be so open about his fears involving Kahmun. But then, the reality of his mistake hit him like a train. 

From what Tim had gathered in the past day, Ahkmenrah had a problem with self-control and impulse. In the eyes of the Ancient Egyptians, these were some of the least desirable traits in a leader. By telling him, Ahkmenrah wasn’t feeling comfortable—it was in his nature. And in this life, his nature was an issue the public and most likely his family frowned upon.

In Tim’s standards, honesty and vulnerability were some of the greatest attributes a person could possess. He greatly valued them in a close relationship, whether that be platonic or romantic. On top of that, Tim also felt a twinge of understanding at Ahkmenrah’s pressured lifestyle. His family, too, had always set their sights high for him, too high even, to the point where Tim couldn’t possibly reach. That didn’t matter to them; he must succeed or be side-eyed, known as the child who failed.

To his family, Tim never succeeded.

At that moment, a loud voice rang through his mind, shattering his thoughts.

_ What are you trying to do, psychoanalyze him? Maybe if you stopped being so fucking self-absorbed, you would actually care for him instead of just pretend. _

Even though it was only inside his head, it took him a second to realize what it was talking about. He had been silent for longer than socially acceptable, and the more time went by, the smaller Ahkmenrah seemed to become.  _ Self-absorbed. Conceited. So much you didn’t even realize. _

Suddenly, Tim felt like the worst person in the world.

“It’s alright, Ahki.” The nickname rolled easily off his tongue. “It’s sweet of you to say. Not many people I know would be worried about their siblings’ wellbeing at all, especially not to the extent you are. Not that they express, at least.”

Ahkmenrah ducked his head. “Still, I should not have said anything. I am the pharaoh. I must be—”

“Calm? Calculating? Powerful?” Tim suggested. At Ahkmenrah’s silence, he continued. “You are not your throne, Ahki. You don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not. No matter who tells you to change.”

_ No matter who. _ Maybe Tim should take his own advice.

Ahkmenrah had grown to resemble the hue of a tomato. Tim couldn’t tell if it was the nickname or the compliment, but either way, it was no longer from embarrassment.

“Timothy—Tim?” Ahkmenrah stammered. “Can I be honest with you?” He hugged himself, pulling his knees to his chest and curling himself into a ball, making him look like a rather large toddler. With wide eyes and bated breath, he waited for Tim’s answer.

Perhaps it was something in the warm air, or maybe it was the fact that Ahkmenrah seemed to have shrunk in less than a minute. In a moment of sudden and rare confidence, Tim placed an arm around Ahkmenrah and pulled him closer. Ahkmenrah immediately responded, pressing himself into Tim’s side heartily.

“Of course,” Tim murmured. Despite his calm words, his heart beat wildly in his chest. Holy shit. He actually did this.

Ahkmenrah smiled softly, his blue-green eyes drooping. “Sometimes I am unable to shake the feeling that Kahmun’s frequent mood swings are solely my fault,” he admitted.

Tim knew better than to disagree with negative thinking; that never helped anyone. “What makes you say that?”

He could feel Ahkmenrah sigh against him. “Kahmun was supposed to be the pharaoh, as he is the elder of us two, but when I was seven my parents changed their minds and named me as our father’s successor. Ever since then, Kahmun has been less than cheery. I feel like if I was generous enough to give up my title to him, the rightful heir, he would go back to being the big brother as I remember him.”

“You are the rightful heir to the throne,” Tim assured him. “I can’t speak for your father, but Shepseheret is a sensible and kind woman who is clever enough to choose what is best for her kingdom. If she thought you were not the better choice for the pharaoh, then she would have kept Kahmun as the heir. I’m sure your brother is a good person but—” He pulled Ahkmenrah closer. “In the day I have known you, you seem to be a great leader.”

The soft smile returned to Ahkmenrah’s face, this time with a small hint of amusement. “I thought we agreed to take things slow, yet here we are having a heart-to-heart on the first date.”

_ Date. _ The word echoed in Tim’s head. While he had not seen this as a date, and he doubted Ahkmenrah had either. But at some point, that is what this outing had turned into.

Tim didn’t mind in the slightest. His heartbeat had slowed, and he no longer felt nervous or afraid. He was enjoying this, feeling peaceful and relaxed in the warm sunlight with Ahkmenrah by his side.

When they turned to face each other, their faces only inches away, a strange emotion passed between them, one Tim couldn’t quite name. Not love, but definitely something. It didn’t need the soulbond to be felt.

Ahkmenrah’s gaze shifted slightly behind him. “Look at the sun,” he murmured. It was slowly setting behind the mountains, it’s blinding light dining almost imperceptibly. 

Sadly, Ahkmenrah drew back. “We have missed lunch. It must already be time for dinner now. How do you feel about joining me for another night in Malkata?” His voice was steady and assured. He, like Tim, had felt the change of air between them, and nervousness and hesitation no longer impeded him.

Tim nodded and smiled. “That would be nice.”   


“In fact, would you consider staying in Malkata for the remainder of your stay in Kemet?” he asked.

“Of course. I think that would be easier.” It wasn’t like Tim had anywhere else to go.

“Just my thinking. Let us head back. Perhaps Kahmun will join us tonight,” Ahkmenrah said, a hint of wishful thinking in his tone.

They stood together, casting their long shadows on the intricate monument behind them. Ahkmenrah offered Tim a hand, and then they started off, heading back to Malkata.

Tim’s new home.

**Author's Note:**

> I suggest you guys check out some ancient Egypt history books or YouTube videos. They are actually super interesting. There wasn’t a dull moment when I was researching!
> 
> Also if you notice typos feel free to point them out.
> 
> The next chapter should be out shortly


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